It’s going to be okay, you tell me. how would you understand? only women know. what it is like to have a look. a word. a touch. unwanted at that. not being able to escape.
when my mother shared, she desired to be a nun, at age 52 i finally understood. days of silence. clothes that cover. modest meals.
what if i followed your dream for us mom? is it too late? to be on a mountain village? safe. covered. safe. in silence. ahhhh. i breathe in so deeply.
i surround myself with photos of you mom. nonna too. i feel safe. i tell you and nonna how i want to be with you both. i remember the love and safety i felt with you both. i actually feel the warmth just from your photos surrounding me.
the other fantasy i have mom and nonna is to work on an organic farm. my swiss chard seedlings are peeking out. i promised them i would stay alive to see their stalks turn burnt red. until they can be cooked in extra virgin olive oil. with garlic.
until that happens i drink the biggest bottle of pinot grigio from venice. all. of. it. with ice it’s prefect. it makes the past better. it helps me forget at age 19 that he took me in a room i never wanted to be in. that day. that year. over 30 years later I am triggered again. He taught me at such an early age that life is scary. that no matter how much pinot grigio I drink from my parents’ native country I will never fully heal. the gaping wounds that cannot be operated on. stitched up. words rip the stitches open.