glory! : mother

washer

Goodnight my love Remember me as you fall to sleep Fill your pockets with the dust and the memories That rises from the shoes on my feet I won't be back here Though we may meet again I know it's dark outside Don't be afraid Everytime I ever cried from fear Was just a mistake that I made Wash yourself in your tears And build your church On the strength of your faith Please Listen to me Don't let go Don't let this desperate moonlight leave me With your empty pillow Promise me the sun will rise again I too am tired now Embracing thoughts of tonight's dreamless sleep My head is empty My toes are warm I am safe from harm...

Tuesday, July 9, 2024

mother

i have come to hate you, despise you, loathe the way you move through the world and raise yourself. you have made me unbearable, made me unlovable, made me afraid of my own shadow- afraid to love. you blame me for my miseducation yet prove over and over that the cold stone fist on which you raised me is still vigilant and ready to strike at my face and ribs. you show me, when i show you a wound and beg for nursing, that the cruel woman i came to fear in my childhood is still alive and well, waiting to pounce at me when look for my mother.

your bravado is your aura, your sad state of being. mother, how i have come to despise myself through you. standing up straight, practicing dinner etiquette, closing my mouth and legs, drinking my own monthly blood so it wont exist outside my body in the world i share with every other person. we have never been too much alike, but to me it has always seemed like you have cornered me into your cruelty, becoming into an aching freak like you have.

always a strain in your conversation, never a warm hug, never held, never wanted me to take a spot near you, always wanted to elevate me by throwing me into the ether and never being there to break my fall.

how can you be such a bitch, how can you not admit to failing.

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sylvia plath, the bell jar

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

Psalm 18: 6-11

In my distress I called upon the Lord, And cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, And my cry came before Him, even to His ears. Then the earth shook and trembled; The foundations of the hills also quaked and were shaken, Because He was angry. Smoke went up from His nostrils, And devouring fire from His mouth; Coals were kindled by it. He bowed the heavens also, and came down With darkness under His feet. And He rode upon a cherub, and flew; He flew upon the wings of the wind. He made darkness His secret place; His canopy around Him was dark waters And thick clouds of the skies.