when i was twelve or thirteen my mum gave me an old postcard. dressed in king james attire, the words were old fashioned but i memorized them. it was a message i tucked deep down in my mind but easily found for moments i wanted just comfort—like the familiar smell of a blankie or how your mother’s hands feel.
it has traveled through skies and over oceans with me…brought out of boxes over and over.
a year ago i handed it to my daughter. at eleven years alive, her almost the same uphills seem a little steeper than i remember. so i gave her an old tin bottle of water for her journey in the shape of a postcard. i hoped she would learn to take a drink from it now and then.
it lives in R’s room now—-among hair bows and love letters from her dad. though i know it at heart, i sometimes linger in front of the old-fashioned comfort, a familiar place still.
and sometimes, when i see her holding it—-whispering the rhyme to remember. my heart fills up with new comfort.