Category: Family

Mother

When I had a mother
my hair would cascade
in curls of auburn perfection
a red velvet bow to accentuate the wave

And I’d wear my best
newly sewn frock
with lace at the neck
and fishnet stockings
and patent Mary Janes

And the girls giggling with delight
would skip hand-in-hand
to the school prom
and the boys shyly perched
against the back wall would wonder
how to behave, and we’d blush
in return, begging them to dance

But now I have no mother
and no matter how hard I try
I cannot tame my too wild hair
it’s bi-coloured frizz
a nest of betrayal

And no girls invite me
to join hands
my state of dishevelment
a conundrum to be ignored

So I stand against the back wall
and hide amongst the boys
and stay far away from the gossip

And everyone says it’s because
I have no mother.

(Image my own. This poem originated from a dream, so is meant to be metaphorical, not literal.)

Father, Daughter

Is a child meant
to carry her father’s legacy?
The discomfort of his skin
rubbing against her dreams
till she is fallen, raw,
paralyzed and unable to flourish?

Is a daughter meant
to carry the burden
of her father’s grief?
His powerlessness hers?
His fate hers to shatter?

I wear my father’s hurt
like a personal affront
am armed to go to battle

searching for the words
that will set us both free

He lying in his grave
me, awake and able.

(Photo collage my own)

Let Me Out Of Here

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)

Blessings

Mother’s feet scream –
agony of her miserable condition,
underlying disease eating her.
My feet, free of calluses,
paddles slightly bent and fallen,
carry on with forgiving kindness.

Husband’s knees are red-hot pokers
shooting knife-sharp volts
with every rickety step.
Mine are knots in spindly
trunks that bear movement
graciously, allot me flexibility.

Father’s back grew weak
faltering in the end, hunched,
as if he’d born a cumbersome burden.
My back, not without its moaning,
carries me proudly erect –
like the spring sapling, winter endured.

Uncle’s heart beats erratically,
ceasing despite its mechanical support,
his life a testimony to modern science.
My heart flutters with expectancy,
aches with disappointment,
and soars with each new birdsong.

Sister’s tension rises,
the stiffness in her neck suffocating,
headaches blinding her vision.
My neck, slung now like a rooster’s,
puffs around my face like an old friend,
allows me the comfort of perspective.

Brother’s mind has seized,
lost somewhere between today
and yesteryear – never certain of either.
Mine, a constant churning cog,
gathers information, spews ideas
and bends in the face of creativity.

My eyes have seen suffering,
my hands throbbed with desire to help;
yet each bears their cross stoically,
and so I watch with compassion
and gratitude for the life I might have lived,
had my own vessel not been so blessed.

(Image my own)

When Love Fails

Slammed by expectations
silenced by your rage
the hero in me exhausted

I can’t make it right, my love
when communication is forbidden
and the voices in your head
hold us both hostage

I’m clinging to memories
resolved to leave here
integrity intact
identity intact

The mayhem in your words
has cut the ties –
I know where I stand
mental health at stake

I’m setting my intention
walking away –
will find my own footing
and hope you don’t forget

That love always holds answers
and despite my somber exterior
the back door to my heart
is always open

(Art my own)

They Tried to Warn Me

The serpent alerted me
boa sized terror disrupting sleep
I tried to push it back
but the beast insisted
“Keep driving forward, woman
I am at your side”

It came again
infiltrating my slumber
with a wide mouthed warning –
“I could consume you,
you better be ready”

Of course, I looked away.

It was a tiger next,
whose force, unmistakeable
sat upon my legs
rendering me inert
“You will pay attention”
he warned. No argument there

But how am to decipher
these nightly messages
the power of such beings
infiltrating my waking moments
am I going mad?

It would be the wolf
whose presence caught me
mid-flight, awake while dreaming
that startled me the most
“No time”, he said, “the moment is now”

And I awoke with a shudder
heart drumming an anxious tempo


and that’s when the letter arrived
telling me that we were finished
flesh of my flesh
no longer forgiving
and then the dog died
and I know that things come in threes
and the threads of my heart
barely holding on
can’t handle anything else
and my mind burns with questions

If only I’d paid attention
when that first snake appeared.

(Inspired by dreams. My art)

Dear Dad

I miss your wisdom;
could use some about now,
confidence lacking

Life’s what you make of it,
you’d say, and
You’re doing a good job…

Truth is, I’ve made a lot of mistakes –
call it stubbornness or stupidity-
but I failed to plan, Dad

Not bemoaning life
It’s been really good
and I know you did the same

I’m just tired of doubting my self
Watching the rest of the world
reach their goals and then retire

While I can never tell –
am I doing a good job
am I even appreciated?

Remember the day my marriage died
and I came to you, crumpled
spewing anger, defeated…

And you cried with me
raging on my behalf, said:
Goddamn it, you deserve better than this!

Funny that through all the pain
your walls, my walls
you, alone could see me

Tragic how I only understand that now
death and years separating us –
my need for you still raw.

(Image my own – cut and paste with AI)

Family Portrait

Revisiting past posts as I take this time to gain balance. Photo circa 1975.

Family Portrait

Note: My youngest sister (pictured on the left) and myself (in the middle facing the camera) are the only “survivors” of our family chaos. Mom passed this past May; our eldest sister (next in the lineup) died at 43 of cancer; Aunt D, next to me, of cancer at 68; our other sister suffers schizophrenia and Parkinson’s lives in long-term care; the baby of the group lost to heroin addiction and what we now recognize as human trafficking in her late teens.

Everyday Ghosts

“My father will always be a touchstone ghost. He comes around often, especially late at night when I’m singing…” – Raymond King Shurtz

A touchstone ghost?
My father?
A thick shame falls over the morning…
Mother is dead now too, and her death, still fresh and ungrieved
also hovers

What am I to make of the absence?
parents who consumed so much of my energy –
emotional energy, for sure –

Suddenly, they are gone
and the silence echoes
bouncing off the chamber
where my guilt lies

Was I ever enough?
I thought about walking away
So many times…

But how could I?
One dependent
one abusive
both declaring love

I am not infantile
not rendered immobile
but my heart does falter

If either ghost is a touchstone
it is a measure of progress
a beacon of survival

I wish them both well
and infinite peace
and well, I also wish them gone

It is the relief that comes with their passing
that gives me pause….
am I really that cold-hearted?

No, not cold-hearted
just worn out
and longing to breathe

But ghosts linger
spirit infiltrating
generational layers

and I hear my father’s voice
in my grown son’s compassion –
a side he seldom could convey

and I see my mother’s resiliency
in a granddaughter’s determination

and I know now what the grief is…
the failure to recognize the gifts
amid the constant suffering

Even in war their are blessings
and I’ve forgotten to stop fighting
still hold my breath, waiting
for the fallout

Maybe the ghosts remain
as a reminder

that I survived.

(Written for Holly Troy’s writing prompt: Everyday Ghosts, which invites us to breathe in a prompt (the quotation) and write without pause for 5, 10, 15 minutes.)

Teach Me

Teach me reverence;
I am losing ground

Children adulting,
mothering in a void

Teach me acceptance
disability’s waters flood

I am in the margins,
an afterthought…

I concede life changes
release control…

Passion begs an outlet;
I am worn…

And I am open…
Teach me.

(Teach Me first appeared here January 2020. Edited for this edition. Art my own)