Vine on the Wall

In my mother's house I lean against the wall and wonder which is holding which upright. Without her children's need, her world would fall. Maternal burdens soon become too light. Or is it I that helplessly remains to curse the kitchen that cannot be mine, the frightened child that constantly complains but clings ferociously as if a vine? Dependence is the root between the two. The new bud cannot bloom until it's free. Time must finally sever the stem clear through. God's flowers are meant to blossom separately. I walk away unsteadily, on my own. The wall still stands just fine now, all alone. by Lisa (Teel) Rodriguez 1984