Born in the harsh bright lights of a hospital room the first thing she heard was her mothers yelling voice
whisked away to routine and strangers she opened her eyes
a new place
a few days later while her diaper was being changed
again she heard the mother voice
high pitched and needy
hands once again rescued her
a pattern emerged
life was a puzzle
figuring out the fickle needs of the mother voice and adapting to it
going to stay with other mother types on weekends
Becoming adroit at being strong
while wanting/craving a chance to be a little girl
curling up on your bed at night listening to alcohol fueled rants and knowing that your absolute job is to mother your mother
not knowing that tears drip for you in heaven.
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I can substitue Father in this and it will be the same...you've touched on something very emotional, yet giving tribute to your having lived through it...a strength...a red thread.
ReplyDeleteMy Godstars Woman you are deep! I so love your words!
this is beautiful. the ending is so sad, but i think that shift in responsibility happens to a lot of us. Lovee your poems :)
ReplyDeletelovely word flow.
ReplyDeleteinvite you to join Jingle poetry potluck today, free and fun...
first time participant is welcome to share 1 to 3 old poems, or poems unrelated to our theme,
hope to see you in.
xx
My parents did not need parents, but they sure had the same problems... now you love them.. but need to keep them at a distance to stay mentally healthy.. Much strength to you.. Excellent write
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