I inherited the blood, cells, DNA, tears and sweat
of thousands of women.
Four of us have shared a table,
broke bread and called ourselves mother.
an elusive and frigid woman.
Not the first in the chain of insecurity I’m sure,
but my first reference point.
I have never understood how my own mother loved her so.
well she’s had two lives. Is of two worlds.
Children were a textbook endeavor.
Philosophy and materials were much more suitable.
My mother, sensitive and callused.
The product of confusion and regret
Gilded in an oily slick of redemption.
The child to make up for the one given away.
The child of confusion.
She has stumbled through life
trying to fill holes of inconceivable depth.
To fill them with:
flora and fauna.
Tucking herself into a flower bed of lonely each night.
grew to be shame.
Mouth covered and the last morsels raped away.
One- two- three
We never healed you.
One- gone six years too soon.
Two-gone six years too late.
Three – forever at your heals.
Here’s four mama. Born redemption.
Hold her with me.