Sometimes you take pause when looking at me, mother
looking the way mothers do
like suddenly remembering
and ruefully accepting
of the wild creature that is their daughter
a weary ghost of a smile
reaching hands
my hair being smoothed
that which is always untamed no matter what may be tried
not like yours mother
which is always settled submissively in a bun
“I love You”
you’ll say in a sigh
but it comes out like an apology
regretful and tired
tired
a word that has dogged you since my infancy
and I suspect even before that
but I never made it easier for you
on contrary
everything I did was difficult
I was difficult
not in the manner that other children are
I was the kind of difficult you didn’t know what to do with
it was in the way I wandered away from you
fearless and without direction
the way I did not cling to you as your other children did
and do
it was in my apathy for society’s validation
I watched and listened to you
though you may not know it
I saw you
sobbing because there’s something “wrong” with me
whispering to my sister that I was born in the wrong family
Ripping apart photographs in a state of rage
seeing a therapist because I was just too much
sinking into long bouts of silence because I’m a disappointment
I watched it all in my own dark corner
Squashing down rage and my own disappointment in myself
I stopped telling you when I didn't have friends or when the other children said mean things
I didn't want you to worry
I didn't
Somehow I've always known things would be different someday
Mother, would you believe me if I said I loved both myself and you
Or do you think that I really have to choose
I know how these stories end
A phone call reaching miles and miles away
Once a year
Maybe twice
Polite silence among Christmas cheer
As you and I, mother, tiptoe around things we won't say
If I could rewrite the end..
I would write it in my own hand
With careful letters
And reckless words
So that the impossible could be a truth so honest it could break through these woeful laments
I have given you