Comfort Chaos

Someone soft and gentle invited me to sit for a moment and lay my troubles down

And I nearly burst from gladness

She reminded me of my mother

Bold and outspoken in turns

But also yielding and kind and curving and warm

I remembered then how it felt to be mothered

As though I had just laid my weary head in goose down

As though someone had slipped warm socks over my shivering feet

She laughed with her legs tucked beneath her

-       Just as my mother would have done

And didn’t seem to give a damn about propriety

No, no – she spoke up and out

Brazenly, loudly, lovingly

And pivoted with ease from open, vulnerable discourse

To fun, chattery banter

Then she jumped to care for the comfort of others

Starling a snoozing kitten from her lap

The sounds and sensations of home pushed in and out like the tide

-       The noise of teenage boys scraping pots with heavy spoons

-       The clattering of dishes

-       The shuffling of feet

-       The plucking of guitar strings

-       The jangling of car keys

-       The barking of dogs

-       The radio, the television, the sound devices, the personal devices

-       A husband and friends, and friends of friends, so many friends!

All revolving through her front door

I miss my mother (and my father, too)

I miss home and that special kind of comfort chaos

Where an outstretched palm in the midst of so much activity speaks of

belonging and welcoming and holding and loving

The mother who tends comfort chaos must sleep like a babe at night, even when she knows full well that the morn brings with it so much to do.