Daughters, Be Free

I forge a path,
for those who follow –
my children and theirs.

We lived a small-town,
incestuous fishbowl
life, before the change.

As much as I would
recapture the simplicity,
nothing is ever the same.

The horizon has shifted –
former choices vacated,
sad memories remain.

Eerie desolation repels,
yet I’ve lost an essential
part of me, cannot leave.

Was it curiosity that lured
me into that seedy corner –
forced me into darkness?

Did I not see evil lurking
behind the black curtains,
deception masking as mystery?

I rage for what was taken,
strike out against injustice,
cry vainly for innocence lost.

My daughter, myself,
stripped, shamed,
dishonoured, for what?

Sexual gratification?
Exploitation and profit?
Is nothing sacred?

We lie to ourselves –
we women – born to
appease – disillusioned.

Abandon our birthright,
are marketed, consumed,
objectified, souls shattered.

I rage against the inequity,
plead for common sense
to save them – my daughters.

From the hell I’ve lived,
from patriarchy’s treachery,
from the hurt I’ve inflicted.

I’ve forged a path for none
to follow, pray they choose
another, brighter way.

Driving Passion

Warnings of attitude –
a fiery-tempered miss
with whom I’ll be working,
tweaks a memory – intrigued,
I promise to familiarize myself.

Perfectly parted raven tresses
cascade over stiff, slender shoulders,
porcelain features suggesting purity,
pierced by autumn sky eyes – once
menacingly brooding, then clear as a
summer’s day – she perches proudly

Rumours echo in my mind –
tales of truancy, back talk, and
lashing out – a trail of intimidation.
Where are her parents? I wonder.
Absent, distracted, in avoidance
of this wayward youth – I hurt for her.

Smirking at my attempts to sympathize,
her eyes accusations: It doesn’t matter what
I do – they don’t care; nobody cares. So what?
Don’t you care, I want to shake her, don’t you
worry about your future, see the damage you
are causing – I maintain composure – she is,
after all, an A student – gifted survivor.

I drive her to a party of her peers,
watch her slice through the crowd –
her smile a sharp-edged weapon –
she settles in a corner, smolders,
then tiring of the meaningless, signals
an exit, stragglers in tow – boys entranced
by her mystery – she does not shrug them off.

She leads us to a bar – an adult space –
where despite her underage, I watch her
morph into Lilith, claws wielded, lips dripping
bloody, black venom, she turns on me,
I recoil, regroup, strike back, calling her
Genevieve, we both withdraw, retreat.

Complete with entourage – she silent
in the passenger seat, I exhausted,
feeling used – no guidance from self –
absorbed teens – craving cooperation,
careen through back country, attempt
direction, miscalculate, aim again.

I deliver my charges without incident,
note with dismay the consensus of
detached parenting – alarmed that
fresh-out-of-childhooders have no rein –
finally find the words to ask my protegé:
Do you think you might be hurting yourself?

Angst responds, without speaking:
What is the point, it asks, when the world
is self-occupied; when rules extinguish
expression; when apathy has replaced
concern; and conformity has no definition,
outside of construed norms: unattainable
at best – we are materialistically baited
robots, mechanically jumping to fulfill what?
One-upmanship?  Social redemption – hardly.

Why should I strive for excellence when
excellence does not acknowledge me –
maybe doesn’t exist at all – I have ideas,
I have passion, and compassion, and all
I see is misogyny – a schizophrenic view
of womanhood that disallows  perfection
while simultaneously demanding it.  How
am I supposed to find myself in all that?

Memory floods back – hopes and dreams
stifled by dysfunction, onscreen beauties
defiled then rescued by oddly aloof males,
women with voices slammed as unfeminine –
mixed messages of my youth rush back
with new clarity – this child is me – violated
and unprotected – her inner screams masked
by an outwardly defiant persona – duplicitous.

We work together, she and I, a co-joint
adventure to reveal truths, liberate souls
and serve, as is our calling.  She, young,
idealistic; me, old and sometimes wizened –
we fight for the under-bitch – the not fully
realized potential of all women – oppressed
by commercialism and sexism, negated by
culture and patriarchal driven standards.

Warnings of attitude –
a fiery -tempered miss
with whom I’ll be working –
and I give thanks that she’s still
residing within me – a familiar.

Day 209 “The Multiverse”

In innocence, I first encountered her;
I, a mere child of five:
wide-eyed, curious, and unafraid;
she a creature of Nature.

The woods where I wandered were hers,
densely populated, untamed.
She eyed me with bewilderment,
this unattended sapling in her path.

With feline instincts she stalked me,
considering her moves
I was hers, undefended –
and so she took her time,
waiting for me to ripen for the attack.

She followed me through the fields
of adolescence,
pacing the perimeters
patiently biding her time.
And I, with growing awareness
came to understand her threat.
And I picked up the pace.

Into adulthood I ran,
seeking safety in the concrete walls
of business life, and fast-paced living
and like a cat with a mouse
she toyed with me,
knowing I’d be hers in the end.

She shrank back into the shadows
when motherhood became my calling
no doubt a Mother herself,
and therefore compassionately courteous.
But she never gave up.

Into old age I run, but –
the cougar grows closer,
her senses fully alert;
she smells my fear, and
fully powered she leaps
towards me,
and even
though
I seek
the safety
of my home
she easily
penetrates
the ineffective
doorways
of my
mind
and
pounces…

The Tao says that we live in a universe
of multiple possibilities –
a multiverse –
but when your life is spent
in survival mode,
in constant flight,
always looking behind
It is difficult to see the vast horizon
that lies ahead,
or even dream of possibilities