Sunday, February 2, 2014


I had a couple of ideas begin to brew last month.  I have notes on all three, and finally broke through the notes on two of them.  Here's one, dedicated to Mom.

Worry and the Rocking Chair
By Judith Cullen  (c) 2014

“Worry is like a rocking chair: it gives you something to do but it never gets you anywhere”  - Erma Bombeck

My worry sits in a rocking chair,
Sometimes, she’s 82.
Rocking forward and back,
Dispensing observations
And concerns.

"Be careful, . . .
it’s icy out there,
it’s foggy,
there’s traffic – an accident.
Where’s your coat?
You’re not wearing that?"

As she rocks forward and back,
The adult “me” hears it.
Messages from the past,
Old scripts playing
Over and over again.

"Judith, you are . . .
Such a messy child,
So irresponsible,
Completely unaware,
Somewhat incompetent,
Never good enough."

How did I attain this mature age
without this daily “help”?
Rocking forward and back,
Reminding me of all
I know, that I don’t.

The morning light changes the litany
I see my worry anew.
She sits there and rocks as always
I see the years weighing on her
Every moment, every breath.

The message comes through
For the very first time.
After fifty one years
Of listening with my ego,
Instead of with my heart.

My worry is saying . . .
"I love you,
I love you,
I love you,
I love you,
I will always
love you."