don't discriminate.
Big ones, little ones,
any spider I find
I scoop and throw it
at my sister.
There is satisfaction
in the scatter.
It's not her I'm after,
but that moment of laughter.
It doesn't survive
its own echo though.
Later we ride bikes
under the illusion of peace.
The Spanish moss plays me
like a song I'll always remember,
whose rhythm I never cared for
and I know I am
all out of tune.
We pedal slowly, a
dance to old memories,
shake our heads at how
we lived them like lyrics,
from mediocre to tragic.
I ask out loud how we
survived this world
and Lauren says
"It was either that or succumb."
Day drones on
and finds us again
nearly naked by the pool,
where Lauren asks what
I'm thinking and says "Me too."
when I say "Mom..."
I say "...where she is now
and why she couldn't
love us enough."
and Lauren says "That she's a dick."
Her words, not mine.
My words are all used up
like forgiveness.
Mother, my Mother
you seep into everything
bitter like that cinnamon stick
which I wanted to believe
would last its refinement
and become something
I would have even settled
for something
not bad for me
but you just can't help yourself.
I cannot help you.
There are any unguessable
number of miles between us
and I cannot even
get away from you.
I am supposed to be
on vacation from
all of your you
and this poem
was supposed to be
about spiders.
6 comments:
I know I have commented before but I have thought about this a lot...I don't think you need to forgive right now. Just making peace is a huge step. The more I think about it, the more I believe your mother has very serious issues that are absolutely not your fault. You can't help her or save her but you can use your energy to walk away from the impossible. A little step at a time. Much love. Ines
Dear Antonia. So long since we've talked. My mother used up my childhood with alcohol and then committed suicide.It broke me to my soul. And even though I slowly healed, I have not yet forgiven. But Andrew was my Saving Grace. And I was able to give to him all the mothering I never had. Blessings to you and yours, dear Antonia. Suzanne
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vx6DtgW_uh0
Brother Ewert, seriously?
Everybody has their mode for empathetic reaction; mine is through musical expression. I find the heart in this song very fitting, and the lyrics nearly equally perfect to the setting.
I have a small private blog, I'm quite sure only my mother reads it. But on my blog I have a link to yours, and last year my Mom bought me a piece of Midnight Orange art (mom and baby, both with butterfly wings). It sits on my desk at work, reminding me daily of both her love for me, my love for my own children, and the fragility of our well-being.
I don't check your blog often (mostly cuz you don't blog often), but I noticed just today a post of yours I hadn't read yet, "What's New and What's Next at The Midnight Orange" from August, and was looking forward to 'catching up' with the story of your journey, I hoped to find news of your continued healing, or maybe even news that your mother might have come to her senses. But as I pondered those possibilities, I came to believe that your healing is probably, at best, 'two steps forward, one step back' and more likely feels like 'one step forward, two steps back'. Wherever you are right now on that journey, I hope you have managed a few forward steps.
I also realized that if you have been able to develop a healthy buffer between your mother and your own beloved family, then whether or not she has come to her senses at all is almost irrelevant.
Peace & Blessings :) SMF
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