Francis Masat

Lilac Blossoms

In my Mother’s day, lilac switches and lessons went together.
As a child, one quickly learns to choose, when ordered to select
their personal switch: Is this the day to scream-dance to thin and
stingy cuts? Or is this the day to howl-jump from thicker, darker
welts? I made my choices, and pain, as time, passes. At least she
let me choose. On this May morning, though, I cut lilac blossoms
for my Mother’s grave. There is no choice.