Day 17: Purple

Genre: Prose
Universe: n/a
Rating: G / TW: None
 

My Mom won't answer
If you ask her if the soles of her feet
Are purple from crushing grapes
After decades of working at a winery

She knows those vines like
The back of her sun-worn hand
And she cares for them as if
Each row were her child

Which makes those grapes 
Pretty damn lucky, seeing that
My Mom is pretty good at
Making any child (or fruit) feel loved

Never once have I seen her
Turn away someone
Who needed care
And a Mother’s kind word

I know she is half the reason
That this itch to craft and create
Is so deep set in my bones and
Why I give so many second chances

Because the life she lives
(While we may not always agree)
Is always lived with honesty
Strength and love

Despite the work and life 
And time and distance
Conspirincing to keep her
And myself apart far too much

Every time I manage to catch her
For a call or a message or
Just a silly image in my texts
I remember how lucky I am

That she is my Mom