Illness has built
the bricks that bind
has birthed this wall
I am postnataly withdrawn.
If I emerge
it will be armed –
sharp comebacks
I am curious
about the caring
my rage running deep
Can you see it’s outlines –
zones broken out
of the practical
Quieting the hurt?
(Image AI generated)
I hear my mother’s voice
questioning my intentions
certain I’m not doing it right
this wifely thing
I’ll be abandoned, surely –
it all rests on a string for her –
if dinner isn’t on the table at 4:38
or the beds are not made right away
or the laundry basket, unfolded,
remains in sight –
then who blames the man
for leaving.
Six generations now
I’ve witnessed women fighting
for equality, for recognition
and still the old guard holds on
And now politicians –
men with loose jowled egos
and paunchy stances –
and so-called religious leaders
call for a retraction –
women’s lives at stake
Who will lobby for women’s rights
when the female voice is silenced
needs carefully tucked away
so as not to raise ire in her mate?
Weighed down by complications –
you see, the amount of baggage
I carry surpasses my storage
capacity; and despite attempts
to simplify, paranoia tends to
my bathroom routines, and
no amount of persuasion can
appease her suspicions; and
the majority of my contents
have been accumulated by
my father’s business, and not
really mine to unload, although
I try, his tyranny still haunts me;
and well, anything new that I
start has to be protected from
the familial bouts of insanity;
and that is why I just want to
pack my bags and get out of
here, and be a mother to my
children; but it’s complicated.
(Art my own)
Love’s waters rise
defy the impossibility
of our sedentary walls
tides and emotions
like sculptors
reshaping the contours
of opposition, softening
the places where hearts meet.
(Image my own)
If pain spoke
less with intimidation
more with invitation
then I might dare
to shuffle closer
attentive and open
Find a fear cornered there
set behind the tautness
barred vulnerability
Speak softly,
intuition would counsel,
approach with tenderness
I would behold
the extent of the injury
length and breadth of abuse
A child dwells in these spaces
believing she’s protected
lonely and alive
Neglect having brutalized her edges
she cowers and yet, curiosity and
hope still hold space in her eyes
I will sit with her in silence
match my rhythm to hers
settle on a calmer resonance
Pain, I’ll offer
is not your fault –
You don’t need to bear it alone
And when, or if
she sidles closer
I will hold steady
Ignore the stench of bleeding
the disarray of matted locks
the sweat of abandonment
And tell her she is beautiful
a soul created in God’s likeness
a cherished one
She’ll not believe me, of course
For that will take time
and the building of trust
But should I stay
soft and warm
and listening
One day I’ll hear her speak:
Would it be okay
if we went outside to play?
(Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 