Driving.. on my way to buy stuff
By the Hand of My Father,
from the Paper Boys
Is playing on my ipod.
As the words that I am singing along to
start to sink in
all the way in
past my defenses
past my consumerist distractions
past the soft layers I’ve added on over the years
One day late
I cry for her
Crazy as a loon
By the hand of my father
but never by the hand of my mother
she never used power and violence to hurt me
maybe because she had no power
A powerless crazy ol’ woman
who never beat me
suffered
gave birth
plunged me into this world
taught me how to tie a bow
and draw paper dolls
and carried me through the snow
and that was it
all she could give
but enough
I cry
Maternal memory is carried down river
as grief for our great matriarch
casts its yawl into my willing emotional current
Our Mother
perpetually raped
is now being soiled
with the black semen
of man’s lust for power,
Our Mother
left barren
must watch
as her children drown
in it’s filth
We weep
We mothers weep
We grandmothers weep
for our great mother
our schizophrenic mother
who heaves and throws tantrums
and sometimes tries to
shake herself free of us
and protect herself
from the hands of our fathers
1 comment:
Your revealing and humorous post about the history of pets in your life, and your reaction to the events off our coastline, was quite moving. You end by asking: “Any ideas?” My only offering is that answers to such large, complex social issues begin with small, simple personal insights… such as the beauty of your poetry. That is a start, and quite a good one.
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