Dear Mother Page 3

  invisible

  Unseen by the world

  but as real and loved

  as a child can be

  dear mother,

  you’re never alone

  I’m right beside you

  holding your hand

  You were supposed to be born today

  but life had other plans

  and so you sit atop

  the pillowy white clouds

  looking down on a world you never joined

  I don’t know when you died

  when your heart stopped beating inside of me

  but I do remember how my heart stopped

  upon seeing the blood

  and while I never got to hold you in my arms

  know that I hold you in my soul

  where you float

  safe and loved

  for eternity

  When night is at its darkest

  I try to imagine your face

  my heart forlorn

  missing someone

  I’ve never met

  You’re still my child, angel

  even though you’ll never wear diapers

  or ride a bike

  You’re still my child

  even without a first day of school

  or a last day of camp

  I hear the whisper of your name

  on windy fall afternoons

  And feel your spirit in the blue butterflies

  that rest on my palm

  We must live on opposite sides of the veil

  for a little while

  Wait for me, angel

  I won’t be long

  On those long

  laundry-filled

  runny-nose

  why-are-you-crying-now

  days that after fourteen hours

  refuse to melt into night

  if I listen closely enough

  I can hear my great-great-great-grandmothers

  chanting my name.

  Dear Mother,

  While you stand at the stove stirring

  bright orange macaroni and cheese from the box

  the weight of the world on your chest

  the weight of your home on your shoulders

  and the weight of each of your children’s futures,

  rocky paths you can’t pave,

  on your heart

  listen

  Inside your soul you will hear angels singing songs

  as they drop pale pink flower petals atop your head

  These angels exist just for mothers

  and all of you have them

  Sometimes they gently blow warm rose-scented wind on our necks

  three minutes before the baby wakes up

  Sometimes they scream into our minds

  when the toddler is standing on the back of the couch again

  uncoordinated superhero

  But most of the time they’re just there for you

  replenishing

  brushing your hair gently

  singing lullabies into your empty wells

  rocking your tired valleys to sleep

  These angels are charged with mothering the mothers

  nursing our spirits as we nurse the world entire

  MADNESS

  the paradox of motherhood

  is waiting for bedtime

  with the anticipation of a child

  longing for Christmas morning

  and then

  after little eyes have long closed

  lying on the couch

  smiling at photos of them

  on your phone

  When I’m with them

  I dream of peace

  crave silence

  fantasize about beaches

  fruity frozen drinks

  the only sound being

  the sea lapping frothily against the sand

  But only a few hours into my

  solitude

  my heart begins rumbling its hunger

  and my body aches

  to have their small bodies against mine

  feel my lips on their buttery cheeks

  What kind of madness is this

  Nobody tells you

  that you will drown in motherhood

  smiling and crying

  as you sink

  into its lovely depths

  eternal baptism

  I wish I was your grandmother

  rather than your mother

  soak you up without the angst

  eat you up without the indigestion

  love you without the fear

  enjoy your childhood

  without the second-guessing

  and the guilt

  already having grown and settled

  into the silver-haired woman whose nerves

  have long since calmed

  There are two mothers inside of me.

  One wears flowing skirts

  made of pressed flowers and

  sewn with spiderweb thread.

  Her words are honey soaked

  and her arms never tire of holding

  babies against her breast.

  She breathes in each moment

  as if smelling freshly baked

  coffee cake

  and smiles real smiles.

  The second mother wears only

  yesterday’s pajamas

  her skin, hair, and heart are dry

  parched

  her mind throbs with restless

  boredom

  as each moment falls on her

  like tiny bombs of redundant domesticity.

  She stares at her keys

  waiting for the moment she can grab them

  and run out the door

  alone.

  It’s tempting to hold each moment

  up to the sun

  examining it for flaws

  glaring imperfections

  noticing how it fails to meet our expectations

  for what it should be, could have been

  but what if you put it down

  let it wash over you

  accept it as yours

  make your peace

  with the present

  acknowledging that it doesn’t have to be

  perfect

  to be

  beautiful

  As exhausted as I am

  overwhelmed

  I know these are the best days

  The ones I’ll daydream about one day

  Wishing there was a way to go back

  even if just for an hour

  It’s tiresome feigning

  interest in yet another

  hastily scribbled dog or car

  until I consider

  that one day

  without notice

  I won’t be the first person

  he wants to show things to

  Some days I feel like the poison

  corroding everything I touch

  a toxic cloud

  Other days I’m the antidote

  baking, hugging, being the

  mother I want to be

  All the while knowing

  they deserve so much better

  I can get so lost

  in the comparison

  my thirsty eyes

  drinking up the crafted images

  we create to celebrate motherhood

  and to pretend it’s all going

  according to plan

  that I forget

  that it was meant
to be messy

  it was meant to hurt

  because nothing this beautiful

  is ever easy

  MOTHERHOOD IS THE ONLY TIME

  YOU'RE EXPECTED TO LOOK GOOD

  WHILE DROWNING

  CAMERA ROLL

  At the end of the night

  when the house is asleep

  I scroll through my photos

  How do snapshots stir such pining

  for moments that have drifted skyward

  like cotton-topped dandelion seeds

  by life’s steady winds?

  Moments I fought to exist in

  are now stripped of angst

  and repainted with the brush of

  simple romance and innocence

  If only my eyes were cameras

  Sometimes I don’t know if I’m going to survive

  all of this giving taking asking crying whining

  Then they’ll look at me

  smiling the goofy smile of children

  eyes dancing mischievously

  cheeks plump off a steady diet of my irritation

  ready to burst into the carefree giggles

  of a human being who’s never paid taxes

  In those moments, I can’t help but laugh

  He said “Mommy”

  too many times

  and I nearly snapped

  until I realized that

  one day

  without notice

  he’ll exchange it for

  “Mom”

  So until then,

  Mommy’s here

  the magic of motherhood

  is how it manages to

  drain and fill you

  at once

  and always when you need it

  the most

  dear mother,

  you don’t have to enjoy every moment

  life isn’t an ice cream cone

  it’s a buffet

  and some of the dishes

  are cold

  RAISING

  SOME DAYS I CAN’T BELIEVE

  THEY’RE LETTING ME RAISE HUMANS

  MOTHERHOOD HAS A WAY OF TAKING ALL OF YOUR

  "I'LL NEVERS" AND TURNING THEM INTO

  "WHATEVER WORKS."

  dear mother,

  trust your gut

  your instincts know

  what your mind can’t explain

  The triumph of motherhood cannot be found

  in the quest for perfection

  It exists solely in the daily decision to—

  in the face of fatigue

  in the reality that it is not yet dawn

  in the knowledge that more mistakes

  will be made—

  show up

  What I’m most afraid of

  is failing these children

  whose only crime

  was choosing me

  as their mother

  Every day I have the choice

  to make heaven or hell

  under this roof

  for these angels

  And my chest tightens

  under the weight of the responsibility

  Until I remember

  that to them

  heaven is French toast

  we don’t have children

  children have us

  our hearts bound tightly within their fingers

  our dreams painted with their futures

  our lives, planets orbiting their hopeful suns

  When the nurse yelled “Push!”

  I didn’t realize I’d have to do it forever

  Push them to take those first steps

  Push them to study for that test

  Push them to try their best

  “How long did you push for?” another mother asks me

  I’ll let you know when I stop

  People seem ordinary

  until you consider

  that everyone was once a newborn

  whose face someone stared into

  when they were just seconds old

  someone carried them within

  felt their soft kicks in the night

  someone held a bottle to their lips

  and watched them take hungry gulps

  so while people are common

  they are anything but ordinary

  because in this world full of fear

  hatred

  scarcity

  someone loved them enough

  to make sure they survived

  dear mother,

  you get to decide

  because they’re your children

  Children weren’t designed to be

  good listeners

  because God knows

  adults lie

  Instead they were made

  watchers

  expert imitators

  so that we can see our truest selves

  through the innocent performances

  of these small

  savage

  mimes

  I pray they don’t notice

  my hands shaking

  eyes bloated

  two sunken ships

  from a night of crying

  Watch your cartoons

  I say in a practiced voice

  Too shrill

  Mommy’s fine

  Everything’s fine

  We can talk to our children about love

  explain the intricacies of respect

  caution them against relationships

  that damage the softest parts of their hearts

  but in the end

  their greatest teacher

  will be what we chose to endure

  and why

  The difference between

  discipline and abuse

  is that with the former

  the child may hate you

  for a short while

  but with the latter

  they hate themselves

  indefinitely

  Whatever soul pains

  we as parents do not attempt to heal

  we pass on to our children

  as an inheritance

  bitterness in wicker baskets

  but the ones we face

  hold up to the sun

  sober and afraid

  are transformed

  by courage and truth

  into

  legacies

  You have my eyes

  I pray you don’t have my brain

  and won’t spend a lifetime

  battling invisible armies

  that march in endless formation

  strong relentless soldiers

  trained by your secrets

  fed a steady diet of your hope

  You have my eyes

  please let that be all

  every once and again

  it becomes necessary to

  pull out a bucket of soapy water

  and a wood-backed bristle

  and scrub your childhood

  letting the foam run over the memories

  wet forgiveness

  until it’s clean enough

  for your children to eat off of

  I’ve learned that the best parents

  aren’t the ones who

  know how to be right

  the best ones

  are the ones

  who know how to

  apologize

  dear mother,

  you’re new to this

&n
bsp; but

  *whispers*

  we all are

  if my children grow up to be

  nothing but brave and kind

  I will consider them a smashing success

  because while beauty and wealth are often coveted

  and intelligence respected

  most of the atrocities in this world

  could have been prevented

  if more people were simply

  brave and kind

  Everyone tells you about

  The heart-bursting love

  Whose explosion

  Rains devotions of shrapnel

  Forever embedded in your being

  For this little baby

  But the books don’t talk about the guilt

  For bringing this beautiful child into a world so broken

  A world so evil

  A world so painful

  What have I done

  I want my children to

  take it for granted

  as long as they can

  for the minute they understand

  the value of it all

  means the bubble

  of safety and love

  I have constructed

  has popped

  I know enough about

  the world now

  that I question my decision

  to bring children into it

  But on those days

  when the news makes me cry

  I look at my baby and hope

  that even if it’s just for one person

  they’ll make it a better place

  I didn’t pray much before having children

  But I find myself in the morning asking