The Mothering Tribe

I learnt that when you don't have a Mother,
others will come to carry the load -
or so it was for me,
first my Great-Grandmother,
the wisdom of which I was gifted
until lymphoma took her at seventeen.
I'd got back from backpacking - au pairing,
exploring German and Luxembourgish bookshops,
European coffee and mussels and trains.
She went cold under my hand.
Her eyes froze on my tongue.
Secondly, with my Grandmother -
took me in after an incident with a car and a pavement, and her hands
on the wheel.
I was on foot.
My Mother's rage knew no bounds
and I always had a way of inflaming her -
never my intention, yet I did it
and the ramifications were mine,
mine alone,
blooming like a dance in darkness,
or a bruise,
or the simple composition of dread.
My Grandmother is visiting tomorrow
and I shan't tell her,
shan't utter a word of gratitude or history.
We'll pretend it never happened,
silently thank those cruel blessings
that I got out
before metal and earth and stillness
knew my, unfortunately long, full name.
There were times I could only see
that future as mine.