Cold Wind in the Middle of Summer
My mother said she was not the forgiving type
She was the type who hold grudges
Who grew poison ivy viciously inside her garden
Watering them daily
Letting them rest under the sun once in a while
Religiously spewing venom under her breath
As if it was pesticide
But then I saw her sitting there
Laughing at his jokes
Like it was the funniest thing in the world
She flashed few smiles at his way
As if he hadn’t committed any crimes
A saint who hasn’t done any wrongs
She spoke to him in a delicate tone
Enough to make a baby asleep
I always thought I was the forgiving one
Cutting down wild flowers and weeds
Trimming the bushes into symmetrical shape
Perfecting my garden to appear visually pleasing to the eyes
Making them smell of jasmine mix with lavender bloomed
Penetrating the nostrils every time people passed by
But I didn’t laugh at his jokes
Giving short answers to his questions
Focusing my vision to anything but him
I didn’t remember him at all
Cause he felt like a stranger
A cold wind in the middle of summer
