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Grapes by iDunno
 

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  • I was at the market choosing grapes with a little girl around me. The grapes were smelling good and so sweet, almost too ripe to be good for buying, and started to fall from the cluster. The little girl smiled at me in disapproval – hands in the hips, daring me to choose what to do and trying to decipher my reaction.

    I smiled, and she smiled back; her hips were learning to dance to daily inconveniences with a smile. It’s not all that falls that must be taken back to the former place, like fallen berries. We choose the clustered grapes to put in our bags, not the fallen ones.

    “There’s no flower in the Universe that is more beautiful than a child!”, I discovered in my early twenties, soon after some recovery from dramatic episodes in life and a huge depression. I was not sure that I would have a child, but for the first time I was sure they were lovely! I was never one of those people who stand children wanting to play toys and games. I was never a full of energy and playful child. But when I got older I started to see them differently.

    It was not reason enough to have children. They were kept in my imagination, but not as a dream for my life. I don’t feel the calling; maybe I sublimated it as a function of nursing my cats who grew old, had their kittens and now are dying. Cats are different kinds of flower, but flowers don’t last more than humans.

    When my mom was pregnant of my younger brother, I was in a real joy and expectations when she came to me trying to explain about “the little seed”. I was always a curious girl, but when that younger child beckoned to come into our lives, I didn’t want to know how babies come to the world. At my age of ten years I left behind my curiosity of the world for the first time in my life. I was in a new universe of contemplation of a miracle without reasons or explanations, and somehow mom broke the magic with that useless and nonsense and awfully constraining subject of “daddy puts a little seed in mom”.

    At that moment I watched the aloneness of my mom trying to talk to me the thinks I didn’t care of like a drunken beggar pleading for comprehension. What I could comprehend was the extreme aloneness of woman dealing with the answer and the inexistent reply for an inexistent question. I only asked myself why my other brother wasn’t called to hear the explanation of the little seed.

    The berries are falling to the floor, still. The curious daring girl asks how I don’t make my move to grab them. I put my hands in the hips to myself, looking to a point in the ceiling, I can hear no answers.
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