Small,
I tried to hold your hand, Mother,
but you pushed me away.
I tried to touch your soul
--everyone has souls--
even you,
in your cocktail dress and Onassis hairdo
and your pearl necklace.
You didn't know you wore
rocks on your throat.
Your lips left
stains
of blood on the cigarette
you carelessly held to my shoulder.
You frowned when I cried
and embarrassed
you.
You
didn't want your friends to notice, so
you
smiled and shrugged and kissed and hugged
me
while they watched,
but the perfume of your bodice choked me, Mother--
may I call you mother?--
Even alligators are mothers,
though I'd never call you
an alligator.
Even if your teeth were sharp
that day when you pushed me away.
You
liked to clutch my shoulder as
you
pushed me on stage to your
friends and made me say words big
like "Paleontologist"
or
"Onomatopoeia"
or
"Rhinoceros."
Accolades
always followed your act and
you
bowed while I lay with limp
strings off stage until you
picked me up again.
Picked a fight that day--do
you remember?
When your hand met my
face
in painful applause when I dropped
wet laundry on
your
floor? There were a lot of
puddles that day and not enough tissue
to go around so
I
decided
I
would shed no
tears for
you.
For anyone.
Anyone
can cry. and I
was more together
than that. In my faded Levis and
straightened hair
I
was nails
was rock
was ice.
Was more busy than
you could imagine.
I had no time for unessentials
like family.
Like mothers.
Do you remember?
You
asked me why I
had done this to
you.
Not why I
had done this to
me.
You understood the
order
of things.
Ice frosted my feelings as
you
wailed why.
Did you really want to know?
Strangers were better
friends
than we.
Friends
bec`me
my family and I
forgot
you
. But, you forgot me not
when you tugged on the black
umbilical cord
and I
twisted and struggled even as the glacier
strangled
till I
answered.
I should
have written.
I should
have called.
I should
have remembered you
were my mother and deserved some
respect.
Respect
being an emotion
I
didn't think you
had heard of.
Respect meaning
call
you
write
you
love
you.
I still
choked
when you hugged me.
The ice climbed higher.
Ice
Like the frozen crystals
glazing
my heart the day my
brother met Death
and decided He was a more
friendly
companion than
you or I.
My soul was
acid
but my face was
ice.
I think we met that day, Mother.
Do you remember?
I
was the mother and
you
child when I held you in my arms. I
could not tell you
how
I felt. I could only clutch you like a
doll.
Like my brother after he went
away.
I kept thinking his eyes
would open and he'd get up and play
if only
someone would pick him up . . .
if
someone had picked him up . . .
somdtime.
But
I
never
did.
I
was ice.
Ice
shattered my days.
Jagged points
stabbed my relationships
like a mother's
love.
Ice age blanketed the world but
I
was safe in my frozen cocoon.
Invulnerable.
Impenetrable.
Impervious.
Ice.
I wondered why they left me.
Or why my
daughter looked at me with
my eyes.
Full of ice.
Like my brother's eyes
like the
knife
in my brother's hand.
Cold.
Like
you
lying before me in your
last
bed. And I wonder
do you
feel the ice?
That is melting around
you
and washing
you
and touching
you
like
I should have
touched
you.
Like
you
should have
touched
me
so long ago.
Where did it
come from?
Do you know?
Do you remember?
Will you tell me
why
my cheeks are
wet?
Scribed this 12th day of November, 1997
I prithee, an thou hast enjoyed rest and merriment whilst pausing at
the Gallery, scribe thy thoughts to the good gentle below.
songsmith@oocities.com
Except for where otherwise noted, all works and
character concepts are Copyrighted 1997
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