Dear Mother
Open blistered wounds
cracked into melted skin
& left as prey to vultures
And you,
Mother,
you salted and baked wounds
wearing an apron and a smile,
blanketing deceit with oven mitts ,
masking a charade with dollop of seasoning.
I
am not
carrying your burden like the Ancient Mariner,
there is no albatross tied like a noose to my neck.
I am birthed from your agony
Yes
I cannot deny this
but I do not shed skins of your yesterday.
I am strength
diamond cut from my struggles
& I shine even through darkness
you cast me into,
tenderly tucked me in
sang a lullaby
rocked me
& then left
You didn’t hold out hold out tissue
to cleanse cheeks
once rosy peach
now white with Plath’s endless fury
& constant torment.
Sylvia did make death her habit
I choose life
for I am too stubborn
too grandiose
too radiant
to use your oven for my head
I was indeed forced to cry
by you
who should have protected
& I’ll shine
still
even for you, dear Mother
I’ll make this promise
to you
eternal.
I will always rise in your horizon
& through your darkest hours
I’ll hold your tissues
even if you couldn’t do that for me
even in your neglect,
Dear mother
Copyright © Ellen Garrity 2004
Wicked Sarcastic 