i remember january
when she was thirteen
margaret atwood
still undiscovered in underwear drawers
the sheets as clean as diapers
pressed tenderly by mother
her jane eyre face
saying to a daughter
with flesh white as a sonnet:
one day
you will understand the word
sacrifice
and i saw her bleed
at tea
but still smiling
licking lemons
and god-scented towels
to keep her clean
as failure wailed for lucifer
in the stream of her
saint’s hair
makeup lined correctly
eyebrow soldiers
marching off to great-grandmother wars
bombs in her ovaries
but none in her eyes
lowering
lowering
herself
flat as money
and tucked neatly
into father’s pocketbook
but i think
what if i am change
angry nickels bulging in a mouth
refusing to sing her gospels
this dark girl
still young to winter
her clovers battling
god and his white-faced men
how can i forgive her
when they burned her bones
and buried them at the apex
of gethsemane
yet
i have inherited her riddle
her love of blue makeup
her eyebrow soldiers
and i also bleed at
tea
on sheets clean as diapers
because i have feasted
on her courage
her naked knowledge
of fathers and great-grandmothers
of why
she
sacrificed
so i tip-toe from the bed
instructing our future to nurse
his fever
&
i must call in sick
and sit in front of the washing machine
to wait until god
tumbles himself dry
Author notes
Every year I understand more and more of what my mother was and why she was.
I can only hope that one day I will be good enough to be called her daughter...
A contest entry
- God called in sick today. by Puking Faerie Dust.
700 points, ended August 15, 2008, 8 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
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This was way deep in there, darlin'. You always have such vivid imagery and descriptions that are out of this world. Things I could have never imagined you create. Amazing, as was the ending!
Thanks for entering, and good luck 
Jeanette*~
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"eyebrow soldiers
marching off to great-grandmother wars
bombs in her ovaries
but none in her eyes"
Damn. For you, "good" is a massive understatement
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You already are, and then some.
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Sniff...you think so?
wuv you.
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Wow ... I admire your gift for creating inner, deeper spaces:f
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Thank you! I appreciate your very kind words.
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Often I thought I was my mother until learning of my adoption and then I saw how traits are picked up and carried inside until you use them and look in the mirror and discover the horror how you become something without ever knowing it is happening, although I still think mine would have groaned at trudging through Africa lol I could be wrong though, she had true grit even if it was shaded a little by common sense...the one thing I never did learn from anyone
C
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guuuh. moms. yeh. this makes sick. in a kinda good way
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and i saw her bleed
at tea
but still smiling
licking lemons
and god-scented towels
to keep her clean
as failure wailed for lucifer
in the stream of her
saint’s hair
this is ironic because the last thoughts i had before i slept last night were 'i want to write a poem that will do my mother justice' and then i come find this, and i swear, you read my mind. this was great, how later in the poem you related to her so well...i absolutely loved it.
only critical suggestion: you know i love repetition, but i honestly think that one 'lowering' in the second stanza would make it read more fluidly. but despite that, you AMAZE gumdrop
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LOL...You know I did the repeating for James, cause it just drives him nuts and I care enough to do that to him.
And thank you my darlin dearest heart...you are too kind to me and my posey. I can't wait to read your poem about mothers and how we are still coming outta them no matter how hard we try to break away.
wuv you 4eva.
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you toooooo babydoll,
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i wish i could turn my relationship with my mother into such a nice poem... but i dislike her immensely and can't seem to articulate how or why in any poetic way.
"but i think
what if i am change
angry nickels bulging in a mouth
refusing to sing her gospels
this dark girl
still young to winter
her clovers battling
god and his white-faced men
how can i forgive her
when they burned her bones
and buried them at the apex
of gethsemane"
okay, fuck criticism for now; i just love this. in the meantime, i will indeed beware men called culpepper, teehee. 
-hiraeth
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I want to be like you when I grow up.
Sometimes I can understand my father, other times I still wonder if I will ever be considered his daughter.
Now can you come out and play in my contest!!
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You're such a slave-driver...SHEESH!
Hell yeah, I'll be there...just gotta get these ruby red slippers spit-shined and polished. Wouldn't do to not impress such a tough judge!
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