The sorrow smarts, Mom
As it seeks an outlet,
Tunneling in and out
Of my heart and soul.
And no matter how hard I try
I can't swallow it back,
Flush it out
Or deny it.
I've struggled to evict this vision
Of your newborn fraility
Out of my mind,
My days-
My nights.
The urge to suppress this
Unfamiliar sorrow
Is killing me,
The force of it swelling
Behind my frozen tears
Screaming for release.
Do I choke it down again?
As is my pattern?
Or dare I expose myself to its jagged edge,
And risk a change of heart....
Will the stubborn foundation
That we both so stringently erected
Over six decades
Crumble in this avalanche of
Neediness?
You threw me a curve.
Your paint box never held sad and vulnerable,
They were attributes reserved for the meek and passive
Colors more befitting Dad and me.
So you discarded them.
You primed your canvas of superiority
In crimson blotches of strength and stability,
Black and white spattertings of right and wrong,
Bold swatches of control
And crystallized aloofness.
Your life was a conglomeration
Of rituals,
Designed to keep your fear at bay
Now here stand I, your prodigy
To share with you my humanness
As it evolves today.
Dallas Hembra
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Author Notes
Until she became vulnerable, my mother seemed unapproachable. Her neediness finally gave me a role in what was left of her life.
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