Waiting

May 27, 2010
By Sophaloaf BRONZE, Newton, Massachusetts
Sophaloaf BRONZE, Newton, Massachusetts
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Just hold still my little ones. Nestle your face into my hair, don’t look. You are safe, you are home. Mama’s here; mama will stop that train, don’t worry it won’t hit you, we just need to wait for your father; mama will protect you. I can’t put food in your mouths, but I can put love in your hearts to stop the fear. You mustn’t pine for a better life; I can’t give you one; I can hardly recall a time when there was one. This is what I have to offer: waiting in a squalid train station for a father, you’ve never met. This is what I have to supply: waiting in line for soup which never arrives. This is what I have to contribute waiting for a bed to sleep on or a clean clod shower. Don’t expect more my little dears; don’t hold your breath for better. I can only teach what I know, and I know only my failure as a mother, as a worker, as a person. Abide by the wait, practice your patience, endure. For all you can do is chew down and swallow what life has presented. Don’t try to discern the rotten from the ripe or the auspicious from the malign, in the end it’s all the same. In the end, it is all the wait.

The author's comments:
I wrote this monologue as a response to the Migrant Mother photograph by Dorothea Lange.

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