My Mother’s Arms
I press my cheek against the smooth, warm, and yet cool surface of my mother’s arms.
Here, I am safe.
Here, I am loved.
Here is familiar.
I rub my cheek along my mother’s arms and every few moments, kiss her to express the utter contentment and gratitude I feel.
My mother’s arms were my first home outside of the womb.
In my mother’s arms, the rest of the world can be kept at bay.
I have nuzzled my face into the crux of my mother’s arms my entire life.
Covid-19 has stolen this comfort from me.
I am thankful for my mother’s health, for being able to see her over Facetime and Zoom.
But Covid-19 has stolen one of the places where I feel most at peace.
I am terrified at the possibility of never feeling the soft surface of my mother’s arms again.
I hope I am wrong.
I hope the universe will continue to breathe life into my mother.
I hope that before long, I will once again be able to bask in the solace of
My mother’s arms.
