I was not born for loving
doctor said; It’s a girl
nurse thought; What a shame, life is harder on them
psychiatrist thought; She doesn’t want to be a mother, but let’s not tell her
grandfather thought; Another generation to abuse, watch her grow, but not too much
grandmother thought; Turn your face away. Do not witness, then it never happens
mother thought; I never wanted you.
…
when I carried you
you reminded me of a rock
I wanted us both to drown
except I would lie and float above
whilst you gulped salty brine
and free of your clutch, hail a boat
take myself somewhere, far from children
I never wanted
trapped by circumstances
anything to escape the confines of my day
but how?
…
I told this story many years later
by then I was
much older than my mother had been
when she gave birth
and in that jaundice saw
her lot
and shook it off
as any woman escaping shackle would
…
I do not blame her a bit
nor for her inability to love
me
though others she loves quite well
like folding napkins can be
an art
I do not feel anger toward her
even when she turned her voice from
human to machine
told me to go hang myself when I was ill
“you are too dramatic and I am not
going to take any of your soap opera anymore”
I should have tattooed those words and others
that cut deep and left a permanance
all over my body
because I hear them in my sleep
but the needle was blunt and my favorite song
played in someone else’s room
and the breeze was fresh and I wanted to
like my mother
run away from pain
so I did not hate her because
she is as much survivor as I
just doing what she has to
to maintain some semblance of
denial
…
it is not the fault of the broken
they cannot perform on cue or
find ways to put back together
shattered trust
though why she picked me of all the people in the world
to loathe
that I shall never understand
I can imagine she would respond, given the chance
oh but darling it’s because you are not worth loving
you are a disappointment and a liar and all things foul
she thinks I don’t know
she is wrong for once or twice or always
such is the calamity of overestimating intelligence
I did no such thing; keeping my mistakes out like a flag
when she left me to drown I only partly did
then and now
just as others have also taken their leave
it is a bloodied procession of grief
…
she would say it is evidence of
my UN-likability and a pattern is a sign
I’m the issue, I’m the cause, common denominator
does she think I don’t hear those thoughts?
especially from myself
though in truth and without the need
for shrinks to proclaim
I know it’s neither
but some kind of family recipe
repeating itself in clumsy tragedy
I tried to stop it
but some things were in place before I got there
…
lucky really for bad luck
I wanted a baby of my own
she lays now in formaldehyde
along with my womb
the scar shines in the sun when I
walk to the kitchen in my turquoise panties
I think then of you my darling
the contrast of death and life
your flawless skin against mine
mottled with shorter time and longer
suffering
we were like two cats
let out to search for cream
except I fell in love
even as the rule book dictated
haven’t you learned anything?
I was not born for loving
though love was all I sought
…
it is the whimsy of the neglected and unwanted
such a cliché, such a burning shame
to follow a trajectory set before you knew
this is the path for idiots, follow carefully until
you too, fulfill the prophecy of fools
…
I think too often still
of the past, though it will never
save me and only devour
any compunction for peace
I dream of her telling me, she hates me
it feels like petals upon my rotten cheeks
I see her dark eyes retreat and in sleep
reach for her, like somehow
all the scars can be healed, though
nothing I say will ever make her believe
the truth she insists, is a lie
…
in fact she says;
I am one giant lie
from my name to my ethnicity and birthright
and maybe she is telling the truth
for I have lost myself in make-believe
and catching butterflies
since very young retreating to
what I could pretend and not what was
real and crawling toward me
with the unwavering tenacity of
cruelty
…
if I could I’d rewrite the future
as I know what it portends
one or other of us shall die
the rest will grieve eternal in fractured silence
such as its always been
generation after generation
losing before truly lost
nothing repairs a pattern sewn
before you were born
…
and I, as I’ve told you
was not born for loving
though it consumes me still
especially when I am weak
which is often as
the sunlight will predispose me
to fantasy
thinking I see you reaching for me
taking all the pain back
returning your heart to where
as a child I placed it
high and gleaming
the greatest illusion of all
warding off my fear that
reality was
real
so
whitewash the sky my love
paint the steps
polish the lamps
this evening we will watch
the night flowers perfume
and bloom
unaided by
light