Call Me Old Fashioned.
“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” ~ Oscar Wilde
On an ordinary day, I am defined by the comfortingly homely term “Mama.”
Well, it answers all the questions in one word doesn’t it? I could’ve said “writer” but that wouldn’t tell you that I’m a female with children who places importance upon silly old-fashioned things like family. Actually, considering that this is a writing site, “writer” would’ve told you absolutely nothing at all. In any case, “Mama” is the normal everyday me; a cheerfully bromidic housewife with four children who enjoys playing around with words in spare time. Nothing dire about it...
Yet, if I were feeling dramatic (as I often am while writing) I might further disclose another meager truth:
I am a projector.
One of those big clunky things which two teacher’s pets must begrudgingly carry into the spare classroom for an elderly guest speaker. Turn me on, and I project ideals; fuzzy, poorly-exposed, beautiful. Usually these fantasies hit blank screens. Then you come along. Wandering, unbeknownst to reality, into the path of my frenzied projections.
You, who are more than a screen.
In the age-yellowed glow of my flickering bulb,
You are a king.
A devine and powerful thinker.
But more importantly,
You are a man.
No longer an obsolete piece of junk,
But a woman.
A woman to hear your tales,
To laugh with you in folly,
To comfort you in woe,
To kiss your trembling lips in lust;
Feel your soul meld to my very core in moments wrought with ardor...
Worlds of possibilities are born to us.
You are gone.
You, who were more than a screen.
The warmth of electricity slowly ebbs away and I am carried off
-by arms who loathe my impracticality-
Carried off and closeted.
Perhaps for the final time.