To Save Mother
        Motherhood
          for later

    God is No Woman

          Like flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport. ---from King Lear

    I never believed that AIDS was God's punishment for being gay
    Or that other STD's or pregnancy was ``getting what you deserved for

      promiscuity
    But I did think diabetes was God's punishment for gluttony, and
      sometimes I thought it was a wife's punishment for not dieting to
      please her husband

    But I didn't even believe in God then--only I didn't believe

      in Mother more
    How could she let herself be an such embarrassment--her children
      crying when their friends laughed at the circus fat lady
    I just wish she could control her diabetes--and I hate that I can't
      forgive her for being sick

    And I just can't believe there is a God--but I know there are

      the punishments: AIDS and diabetes and guilt
    My mother faltering and me not forgiving her for being sick and me
      trying to believe she will live--to believe she wants to live.
    But I never believed that AIDS was God's punishment for being gay.

    Women

          ``Treachery'' (she notices) sounds just like His zipper going down.---Anne Carson

    ``It's not that I don't like him,
    I just don't think he makes her happy.''
    ``What about you?''

    ``I just don't like him.''

    ``No. What about you---are you happy?''

    happy
    happy
    am I happy?

    ``Sure,'' I say

        happy, I'm not married to that annal asshole

    but--
    is ``not miserable'' happy?

    happy?

    ``Sure.''

    happy

    ``And you?'' I ask.
    ``Happy?''

    Putting in those hard wood floors done in front Bathroom needs
    work John's promotion The dog's in heat Carrie's new pool
    Haven't heard back about the adoption. . .

    Oh well, then
    Steve's thesis I'm writing Interesting work at the woman's prison
    My dog's better Nancy's new car The yard's a handful
    Summer is finally here. . .

    Yeah, I hear ya.
    happy?
    ``Sure.''
    you?
    ``Sure.''
    happy.

    Weekend Mothers

          When I am in Rome, I fast as the Romans do; when I am at Milan, I do not fast. So likewise you, whatever church you come to, observe the custom of the place. ---St. Ambrose

    I can't tell my mother that I want to come out and see her some weekend
    ``What's wrong? Do you need money? Is it your truck again?''
    I ask her if she wants to go to Joker's Wild
    And going out for lunch is completely different
    she thinks I just want to get away
    So we meet at the buffet
    speak across full plates and salad plates and the last plate

      of extra ribs Mom brought for me since I overlooked
      the Bar-b-que on my last trip
    and I stare at the ribs
    knowing I'll never eat them
    knowing she wants me to eat them
    and hoping she won't eat them if I don't

    I have nothing to talk about
    the extra plate of ribs is all that's on my mind
    so she keeps me up to date
    on my sister and her baby
    and I try to finish my fish

    but it doesn't taste right when I'm smelling the Bar-b-que
    and it's buffet fish anyway
    overcooked and left floating in a pan of butter
    and I still can't think of anything to say

    When I get home, I wonder why I ever went
    I've already forgotten how badly I wanted to know her
    I never can forget that she is Mother when she buys me lunch
    and brings me food
    and I don't want a mother anymore
    some weekend I want to find a friend or a mentor under her mother-mask
    but every time, she offers money and food and TV mother answers
    across over-full plates at some buffet

    and I hate buffets
    and I hate how defensive she is about her diet
    and I hate talking about my sister
    who, in our lunch conversations,
    is nothing but another mother
    and everything she wants of me--

    I tell her the mixed vegetables are good today
    and she tells me that broccoli gives her gas
    she she lines up six desserts
    and I sit and watch her nibble from each of them
    proudly announcing that those two on the end are sugar-free

    And I don't know what I want from her
    but it isn't lunch.
    And I know what she wants from me
    though I pretend I don't
    Because--
    I'll never be Vickie.
    And sugarless Jello Surprise is just no substitute
    and that's all I have to offer
    It's lime and bitter
    And I can't even swallow that.

      Karen Lumos
      Copyright 2000