From stricken lips poison words distend
upon fertile soul soil freshly tilled,
briar patch of Christ's crown sewn,
parental abhorance of wasted potential;
seeking to sever an unseen umbilical
stretching backward through circles of time,
like flipping Japanese style through photo albums
arriving at page one where wrapped in swaddling cloth
you, wide-eyed, arrival to you-know-not-what;
only now matured, realizing maternal investments
measured in midnight alarms of your cries,
worrisome weekends awaiting your return
from youthful revelings in life, hope, and dreams,
were more valuable than the untold coins of the realm
tossed into the marketplace to buy your bed,
your sustenence,
your Christmas's,
your education,
your birthday parties,
your doctor visits,
your wedding,
your vaccinations to keep you alive:
to fulfill the promised potential
which never came to fruition!
On the day of her demolition,
your mother cursed
the day you were born!
Author notes
When your mother, on her death bed, curses the day you were born, it lingers.
A contest entry
- a bird falls into the sea by hilly.
1000 points, ended July 20, 2008, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Oh man!
This is so sad - I just want to hold you and say 'It's all going to be OK, she didn't know what she was saying' At least she knew who you were, my mother thinks I'm her sister, and she didn't like her sister! I like the way you recognised how much your mother had invested in your life - but at the end of the day, it is your life.
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Your consolation is greatly appreciated, kind soul!
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