She was the spinster left at home, her purpose wrapped up in scissors,
aspirin would not do. She had turned to aspirin, liking the small
white brick like shapes in the neat box. Then she turned to talcum
powder, it only cost a shilling a tin and besides, it lasted longer than
the aspirin. The whiteness and the smell of it soothed her nerves when
the frolics of her mother became overwhelming.
Her mother called
her slattern, and tall, stupid llama. She always thought these names
more as consolations than insults. She grew so adept at being able to
navigate the vitriolic that her imagination took wings. She withdrew
all judgement of her mother and with linked arms and linked smiles took
to studying the heavens. Earth often became too much. Constellations a
comfort: the seven sisters.
The stars, strung out across the
universe, the more she studied the more she felt a sisterly wind blowing
from the east. The reflection of the stars was like a secret sister on
the other side of the mirror, negating the loneliness. Surprisingly,
she found a friendship close to the bone. Who would have thought the
answer could be in the stars?
Yes, she was the spinster sister at
home, but she knew her mother was not really wicked, not even a Russian
troika sister missing her journeys to Moscow. No, her mother’s private
holocaust was far more sinister and complex. The howl of pain that
surfaced in her deep, dark hours of despair, were like tattoos on her
soul. Unfathomable and inscrutable.
For a mother like this one, only scissors would do.
So, scissors rule: cutting, shaping, venting and creating.
Aspirin poisoning aside, spinsterhood turns on the wheel of sisterhood, even between a mother and a daughter.
The copyright of this post belongs to Valerie Rule