Gravity Strings

Her body was a rectangle. My eyes, wedges fixed downwards. While my nape still works as a rusty joint should, her straight back did nothing to keep her lower body from what it was betraying. Gravity, it’s desperate; bringing her weight to her lower body. Waists, no longer round in shape; bum, sagging though big; an area of lose shirt, being the only area reminiscent of a backbone’s curve. Everything about her was rigid. Adapting to stiff chairs, hand-me-downs, to narrow hallways made narrower by fellow passersby, to life situations that seemed determined never to let her leave that ramshackle bungalow. I see her, she is my mother. But my head is far too heavy for my shoulders. Gravity, it pulls me down by the lashes. It is unwilling to enter alone into the abyss. I’d exchange places, if it could guarantee I won’t also pull down my mother with me. Gravity screams false promises. All I can do is look at it in the eye with a sorry and a conditional yes, otherwise catching glimpses of my mother passing by. More precisely, her legs trudging like a robot’s. If only she lacked the ability to suffer. Yet Gravity clings onto all of us.

A/N: Please check out this work on WritersCafe. I could not figure out how to format it properly here. The paragraph should be narrower.