Mother

No cabbages, bread semi-cooked, sausage grilled not fried, eggs boiled for the kids, fried for my hubby, utensils cleaned shiny, two plates filled with food, three boxes for school and office. Sometimes I wonder who woke up earlier, me or that bright buddy outside. I often beat him, my work begins before dawn. I had to scuffle and pick up my pieces from the last night. The morning light started pouring in through the french window.

My time was almost up. Fixed breakfast for the kids, and packed up the lunch boxes.

I sat for a minute. I had a cup a black coffee waiting for me. I sat down. Relaxed. Looked at the corner of the room, the warm sunshine revealed things that I had forgotten. Hobbies, for example, a cycle rusting in that dark corner. Leisure, luxury. I buried them in the shadows too.

I saw my little one running into the kitchen rubbing his tiny black eyes.

‘We’re all set for another day at school,’ I welcomed him with a warm hug.

But he whisked away, confused.

“Mom, it’s sunday”

I picked up my forgetful self, and walked into the burning brightness of the morning sunshine. I was bathed in it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

I looked at my cycle. Maybe I do need a small break.