Mar 23, 2012

Coffee

He invites her to coffee
all of his senses speak
except his lips
all of his senses touch
except his hands
under his chin
his coffee simmers,
dissenting its binding
one more meaningless conversation,
and they part.




Grass


Why does grass submit?
rain falls, it absorbs
sun induces, it grows
wind blows, it kneels
under a layer of snow,
it sits cold and oppressed,

Why doesn’t it protest?

I’m still learning to sleep in the middle of the bed
but I wake on my side with nobody on yours
and I
submit.






Mar 18, 2012

MirrorMother


In this unforgiving mirror
I sometimes find my mother’s scornful face and recall our years of war,
her spiteful contempt to my resemblance of the man who never gave her her dreams
how I leeched on the lifelong resentment, stating my disdaining gratitude for that truth.
why did time in such slow and condescending sarcasm prove us both wrong?
and why do I look at my daughter’s face and secretly wish she was more mine?


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Mar 11, 2012

Birth



When they handed you to me
I couldn’t reach out and hold you,

I froze.

A tiny bag of red skin with a bruised head
from when they vacuumed you out of my body

I wish I did take you,
that’s what a mother in a Hollywood film would have done;
take her screaming, alien like, slimy, blooded baby into her arms and kiss her.
That’s what a mother cat would have done; lick the slime off her kitten’s fur.

There, on the awkward delivery chair, my head hung like Christ
my thighs wide apart, my wound pouring blood, delivering my broken placenta
every bone in my body shifted out of its place in revolution of pushing you out
every bit of me gave you.




Winter Morning


It was a cold winter morning
I taught her to hold the edges of her cuffs with her tiny fingers
while I screwed another woolly jumper on to her head
pulling her arms through another pair of sleeves
the rim of the undergarment slightly peeking through.
I wanted to spare her the discomfort of the first sleeve pulled up
and gathered at her elbow; she was almost three
and delighted with the new discovery, she did it every morning since

“shall I let go now mummy?”

Love makes us do that;
spare them the discomfort of things
life’s little troubles
the small anxieties often overlooked;
I wondered how many of life’s discomforts I’ll be able to spare her
I wondered if my remedies would continue to delight her
I wondered if I would have the remedy at all.