Corn.
It took four full moons to grow.
Another to dry.
A couple of days in a lime bath and its ready for grinding into dough.
I watch Guelita's hands swiftly pat the masa, spread the meat (eight hours of simmering tender), pinch and seal and wrap in its corn husk blanket.
Pat, spread, pinch, seal, wrap. Dozens of repeated movements.
Three hours of steaming.
All this work and for what?
Tamales, hot, spicy, tender. Devoured in five minutes, ten if eaten slowly.
And isn't motherhood just like that?
dishes to wash (one is never really caught up),
floors to mop,
laundry breeding piles on its own,
milk, white and creamy, spilled every which way,
the sickness and worry, driving here, there, everywhere
your heart bleeding open
life so fragile you feel as is you'll be blown away.
And then
then
you are blown away
by morning light landing on handmade quilts,
"I love you, Mom" in a child's scrawl,
cherubic toddler hands reaching up to hold weathered farmer daddy hands,
baby lips puckered to send a kiss,
small five minutes, ten minutes, fleeting minutes of
pure joy,
tender mercies of grace, that enabling power,
fuel for the soul,
water to fill my cup.
Motherhood is just like this.
Dedicated to my own dear mother whom I can never repay and still don't fully appreciate. I love you, Mom!
All images © Montserrat Wadsworth
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