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iacio
held to my chest
~ my heart ~
its supple leather
nearly 40 years old now;
I’ve never failed
to dutifully remove
the filth of my fingers
from it’s deep red cover,
stained as I furiously spilled
everything.
a plain-skinned journal
with biblically-thin pages,
gilding on 3 edges;
its paper is crisp and silky
fresh buttery apples in the fall
Exquisite.
the only gift
my mother ever thought
to give me
that allowed me
to feel known;
she bought it from
a local antique shop,
placing it gingerly
in my small, upturned hands
as if she might change her mind
I fight the urge to grab it
and run
and
I pray to the God
I’m not sure I believe in
and beg him
to suspend time
so that I can feel this way, always
cared for
I asked her what I should write
you’ll know
but, being full of questions
as I have always been,
I asked her how I would know
you’ll just know
exasperated,
she sent me away;
I’d gotten my damn book
but overstayed my welcome,
as I could never resist doing
I felt greedy
and the moment is gone,
just like that
I tried ridding myself
of the beloved, awful thing
a thousand times,
always feeling the pull
of my yearning;
I couldn’t stomp it down
in time to be free
of its burden ~
I love to hold it so much
I hate it even more
it seemed fitting
to record this transition
from my mother’s daughter
to
to
well, that’s still being worked out
one goddamn teaspoon
at a time, ain’t it?
pages, now wrinkled
embossed with dried ink
and every secret
I never even told myself;
it makes the most
pleasant crackle
as I peel each page
slowly, savoring the sound
and read again
about the little girl
who couldn’t believe
she was worthy
of Real. Love.
I weep for her
not that she’s gone ~
she’s my responsibility now,
there are no more delusions
left between us two
smoothing her hair,
I sing softly against her ear
until she sighs,
content
it feels like she trusts me
a little more these days
packing up a lifetime
lived to this moment ~
this beautiful, tragic
moment,
I suddenly wonder
what I’m supposed to do
with this accounting
of half a person
running wild
between
onion-peel layers;
her path
from the pit
of letting everyone else
tell her who she was
for entirely too long
forty-six years too long,
in fact
I see my mother
as I want to, now
her untamed grey wolf,
cursed with the madness
of Blackfeet women,
I’ve never met fiercer;
I know her pain
and how fucking hard it is
not to kill everything you love
when the beast gets hungry
forgiveness is a balm
even if she doesn’t want it
I’m not bound to the wheel ~
not anymore;
there are reminders here,
in the book of my crossing ~
those my healthiest Self & I
have negotiated hard
to agree upon
I gingerly place it
in the large, open box
as if I might change my mind
Published 19th Nov 2020
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likes 15
reading list entries 10
comments 14
reads 228
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19th Nov 2020 2:08pm
"I asked her what I should write
you’ll know
but, being full of questions
as I have always been,
I asked her how I would know
you’ll just know
exasperated,
she sent me away;
I’d gotten my damn book
but overstayed my welcome,
as I could never resist doing"
I felt the sting of this now, while reading, and in the past as a child. A very poignant piece.
you’ll know
but, being full of questions
as I have always been,
I asked her how I would know
you’ll just know
exasperated,
she sent me away;
I’d gotten my damn book
but overstayed my welcome,
as I could never resist doing"
I felt the sting of this now, while reading, and in the past as a child. A very poignant piece.
19th Nov 2020 5:27pm
Anonymous
- Edited 9th Apr 2022 5:45am
19th Nov 2020 3:05pm
<< post removed >>
19th Nov 2020 5:27pm
Anonymous
- Edited 24th Dec 2020 7:45am
19th Nov 2020 3:09pm
<< post removed >>
19th Nov 2020 5:32pm
My mother was the best parts of her mother, and I am the best parts of them both. So the cycle continues with my own children, until one day it is broken altogether. I have great hope for my boys; they seem to understand that responsibility much sooner than I did. Thank you so much for your kind words, Reggie 💜
19th Nov 2020 5:07pm
19th Nov 2020 5:33pm
20th Nov 2020 6:24pm
As I read this, I heard the music I played in the background of my poem A Memory of Sunlight. Beautifully poignant, voice rich with ghosts. 💖💖💖
20th Nov 2020 10:15pm
I went to your poem to refresh my memory. Spot on. Thank you for your support, Daniel 💜
21st Nov 2020 4:18am
Dear L,
There is such an interesting dynamic between mother’s and children. I like to think they’ve done their best given whatever it is they’ve grown up feeling about themselves and their relationships with their mother’s. And if lucky enough there is some insight from the generation before that. Overall, it’s a complete mystery to me after all is said and done. What I loved and take with me from your write is
“ I’m not bound to the wheel ~
not anymore;
there are reminders here,
in the book of my crossing ~
those my healthiest Self & I
have negotiated hard
to agree upon” the letting go of the hurtful stuff. Knowing how good you are. That’s the light. This poem is outrageously divine. H🌷
There is such an interesting dynamic between mother’s and children. I like to think they’ve done their best given whatever it is they’ve grown up feeling about themselves and their relationships with their mother’s. And if lucky enough there is some insight from the generation before that. Overall, it’s a complete mystery to me after all is said and done. What I loved and take with me from your write is
“ I’m not bound to the wheel ~
not anymore;
there are reminders here,
in the book of my crossing ~
those my healthiest Self & I
have negotiated hard
to agree upon” the letting go of the hurtful stuff. Knowing how good you are. That’s the light. This poem is outrageously divine. H🌷
21st Nov 2020 7:41am
I think the previous generation coped with that vicious cycle in ways that were meant to keep it out of polite society. So there is acceptance and a bit of peace that comes from knowing they did the best they could with their own traumas and the skills available to them for overcoming them. Thank you so much for reading abd giving your support 💜.
21st Nov 2020 7:58am
Poignant piece. Favourite verse, for illustrating we are a work in progress:
it seemed fitting
to record this transition
from my mother’s daughter
to
to
well, that’s still being worked out
one goddamn teaspoon
at a time, ain’t it?
It can make a good leaving-home gift to a child to record their ongoing life thoughts. Through that book the parent is still there for them.
it seemed fitting
to record this transition
from my mother’s daughter
to
to
well, that’s still being worked out
one goddamn teaspoon
at a time, ain’t it?
It can make a good leaving-home gift to a child to record their ongoing life thoughts. Through that book the parent is still there for them.
21st Nov 2020 8:01am
It definitely turned out to be a tool of healing for me. Thank you for reading and for your insight 💜
