c. 2023 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-23)
On the precipice
Peering down into dark depths that await my fall
A place I fear, going forward in time
But also as a memory from my mother
When I was very young, around the age of four
She had just given birth to my brother, her third child
Postpartum depression sent her into isolation
With my maternal grandmother offering care
Father worked 16-hour days
And stood in the pulpit on Sunday
The family coffers stretched thin
So I was sent to Columbus, and our family farm
No longer an active, agricultural spot, in truth
With educators swelling our brood
But a safe space away from the affliction
Which was barely understood in that era of old habits, and convenient fiction
I think of her courage, now
Beloved mater
She told me it took a decade before her wellness returned
And I remember those uncertain episodes
When we were shielded from the struggle
My sire stayed strong, and silent
He never explained or excused
But telltale signs made us whisper and wonder
Mother locked herself in the bathroom once, in Virginia
I still do not know why
Now, when my body grows tired and sore
When aches and woes gather in number
I think of the zone into which she descended
And pray to be spared from the same
Art has always been my refuge
The trouble tree, where I leave my cares
Since that time of youthful exile, I have fled to the comfort of music, drawing, and books
MAD Magazine issues on the reading table
A portal toward deliverance
A flirtation with chance
In years that followed, the paradigm remained set
A medicine, I could not forget
I pause at the keyboard, still
With a similar curiosity about self-help strategies
That made me climb a tall maple
Barely past my infancy
And doodle out cartoon adventures
Amid sprawling branches, and fluttering feathers
Alone, but surrounded all the same
Confident in the continuum
The embrace of an unseen creator
Resonating on a creative wavelength
An unspoken connection bequeathed from my mortal link
Mother singing as she worked at the kitchen sink
Her voice, a treasure to receive
A candle lit to chase away the lingering gloom
To revive, through love
Hope of healing
When my right hand shakes furiously, like a clattering car with bolts coming loose
I hold fast to her ethic
Her determination to survive and grow more able
So that we would be protected
That cause kept her focused and fixed
On defeating the tricks
Of a mind turned upon itself, with drastic results
Godly, and respected, she was, at church and home
Yet likely to trip over loose stones
Scattered across the course of her life
I remember the grace she carried, in meeting challenges, face-to-face
At the precipice, I wait
With her encouragement still in my ear
And a kiss on the forehead
Rather than stumbling on the rocky road, instead
I will choose
To trudge through the maze
To journey toward a better place
One page at a time
Inked-up and registered, line-by-line
A printer’s response to the tempest
Which still makes my insides quiver with need
I never feel completely certain that these storms have abated
While I abjure my stain
Never wanting to walk that path of pain
The one that my mother knew for so many years, while busy with her chores
I feel guilty, in the balance
Yet connected in a wondrous and indelible way
Her broad-winged soar into the sunset was also mine
She flew first in the aerial line
Our fates divided by only by the artificial ticks of a clockwork device
Which now is my metronome
It keeps me in rhythm
As I edge backward from the cliff
Clinging to vines at my feet
When this cycle is complete
I will join her in the cure
Of graduation
