Mother

When I was small enough
To fit in the space on your lap
(As long as a book wasn't already there)
I always felt safe and warm like a kitten

I'd write you small notes
Like, "Can I run through the sprinklers"
With two boxes; "Yes" and "No"
To not disturb when you had visitors.

"'I guess' means yes" was my very first mantra
To overcome your apathy
I grew to hope for that response
Over the ever elusive answer, "We'll see. "

Then I grew and we moved into early conflict
Angst and rage from a very young age
Peace of mind locked up tight in a sturdy cage
And surrounded by watch dogs of shame.

And we pushed each other away
As I slowly learned to hide my pain
And you quickly ran out of things to say
And I never told you about that day

Because I was worried that you would hate
Me for what had happened to me
And when I wanted to tell you it felt too late,
Years had gone by and I didn't want a scene.

I slowly learned to love again,
To breathe again, to trust again,
And even though I felt full of sin
You were always there.

And I know you always cared.

And as age and size pushed me into real life
And monotonous perils of everyday strife
Offer so few little soft comforts
I wish I could once again, just for a moment

Curl up in your lap
Like that little kitten
I used to be, and just sleep,
Safe and warm and carefree.