Sunday

It was Sunday again. She knew not because she could follow days, but because after feeding the chickens, Auntie insisted she take a bath.

It was a new thing, bathing herself alone; she was only a small girl.

Life was different now. Her Mama had gone away to someplace far, called Florida. Daddy said she would never be back.

Auntie had come to live in the little house because she was a widow- woman, alone. Sometimes she seemed strange with her black clothes and strict rules. She knew things like no one else did. People sent for her when someone was sick, or babies came, or people left this living.

She was mean at times, telling the little girl, “If you don’t behave, your Mama woman will come and take you away from here, and you will see your Daddy no more.” Tears and sobs would torment Hope because she loved her Daddy and Bubba more than all the things, including her one baby doll. She had night terrors of being snatched by the bad woman and taken away.

After she bathed in the tub of cold well water, Auntie pushed her dress, underwear, and shoes into her arms. She was careful in putting them on just right because Auntie was handy with a switch.

Soon Daddy, dressed in black, except his white shirt and the gray tie he wore, said it was time to begin the long walk to the church. It was dry now, so the road threw up little spurts of red dust as they strode along.

When they reached the bridge over the creek, Hope cried and wrapped herself, best she could around her Daddy’s legs; he could keep her safe from the harm of falling or being taken away.

Daddy reached down and effortlessly took her in his arms. Since the child could walk, she had been terribly afraid of falling through the cracks in the bridge. Now it was compounded by nightmares and his sister’s stories her mother might step out of the woods and steal her.

Auntie screeched, “You should put that child down and make her walk. You are spoiling her. She will turn out to be no good at all.”

Daddy looked at her, saying, “But she is only three, and she needs to learn love is a safe place, a safe person, she can trust when she is frightened. Hush up now; you are not the one supporting her weight. She is my precious Hope; she has lost a lot, it is okay that I carry her. Mind yourself, don’t be so cold-hearted.”

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I rarely tell stories, this one is based on reality. The little girl is my Mom.

Missing My Peace

Across the ocean between
I wonder
Do you wait, or do you go on;
Forgetting you were
The starch that stiffened my spine,
Enough
To stand when I only wanted
To run away and hide.
Now,
Without, I can hardly face
The rising of the sun,
All the troubles we worried,
Surely,
They have come, and without
You, I am drowning
No one to throw a raft.
Mama,
I am supposed to be grown,
But standing here alone,
This world seems less than ever,
My home.

Yet, I am thinking of how I wish
I could make you proud,
Show that what you taught,
I finally learned
Well enough that others could see
The magic you often said
Existed in me.
My courage seems settled –
With your ashes in that urn.
I wilt like a rose denied a drink,
But Mama,
Do you know? Do you know how
I miss you so? Sometimes, just
To hear you say I love you,
To have you give me a hug.
Ah, what comfort it would give.

I cry, and wonder why, because
I was
Taught to be reliable, to hide hurts.
Sometimes I do, but God knows,
I need you, and I can hardly get
A grip on why He took you.
Some have said I can stand
All I must do is work
A plan.
My plans keep washing away
In a deluge of troubles
No barrier erected by me
Can forestall.
I know, I know there is no call
To give up, but I have almost,
Then I remember how you said,
“Believe that you can,” and I try
Again.

I guess if I could reach
Across the divide
Seeing you,
You would remind me
To keep doing my best,
Never give up, study myself,
For the rigor of each test.
You would say, “My love is
With you no matter how far
Apart we seem. Trust in
Love
To feed your heart
And strengthen your mind.
Keep living, you are my dream.”
Okay,
Okay, even though it is harder –
Than, I imagined it could ever be,
I will live, for you gave life to me.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

As a prompt, create something about a loss that has affected you deeply and changed your perception. It could be a person, pet, thing, or a time. You choose. You are endowed with creative power, use it.

I hope you will follow or return to Haphazard Creative. I am in the midst of a Creativity Project and would love your input and your continuing support.

Thank you for taking the time to visit. May God richly bless you and all you love.

Quantum Entanglement

You saw me right here
So did the stranger over there,
At the exact same time;
All without my knowing.
She said she knew me,
I said, “Are you certain?”
In Germany, for ten years,
As a teacher, while she was there.
“You must be mistaken, I was here.”
Her brows raised, “No, it was you,
I could never forget you.”
Not the first time, but disturbing.
I lost someone who believed
I was not truthful when
I tried to explain how disorienting
Were the encounters and my life
As I knew it, not coinciding.
I can see sometimes between
The woven ins and outs of
Our reality in ways others may not
Because my mind does differ.
Perhaps I step in between
Not consciously, but as
I can attest the mind is very adept
At functions beyond understanding
Of even the one experiencing.
People are vast, more complex,
Than can be readily intuited.
There is such a lot beyond what
We can begin to process
And only marginally comprehend,
As it was God’s right to intend.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

2020.08.11 Mom in Granny Dress rr

There are days when life sends shrapnel through my heart and tries to disintegrate my mind. Missing my Mom today is on that scale.

The poem was of a situation in Sam’s Club one day a while back. Before, we all became strangers in masks. It was not the first. The title comes from the spooky motion at a distance of entangled particles. If it can happen to particles, maybe it happens with humans. I do not know. I just know people tell me I was somewhere I was not from time to time and that they are confident it was me.

As a prompt, create something about an instance where you were told something about yourself that you cannot explain. Or, if you wish, make up a situation where you apply science to your life in an iffy way, and create something.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Muses

PSX_20200618_112050.jpg

I tend to surround myself with objects that pique my imagination. Recently, I moved this magnificent unicorn to my writing space. He had long been consigned to my bedroom and an end table in the common area.

The little shell animals belonged to Mom. They tend to entice my whimsy.

I hope you have things that spark your creativity. Sometimes it is challenging to evince imagination, and we need every significant influence we can call to our aid.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Happy Mother’s Day

My Mom and I in July 1992. She was my bridesmaid that day; the most gorgeous I could have dreamed. Mom believed in me when I could not. She helped me when no one else would. She gave me the world because she taught me reading and writing.

The loss of her is incalculable. The times I need her are astronomical. I hope the Lord will give her a hug in Heaven and wish her Happy Mother’s Day for me!

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan.

My computer is being repaired. It is in desperate shape and will require time. I am posting from the tablet, and this may be it today. The week has been a series of disasters, praying things improve. I do not even have a working cellphone at present.

When beset by trouble, it will pass, good times will return.

When your tech goes beserk, it is well if you have redundant systems.