All posts filed under: Poetry

Momma Drama

Do you think mother Earth has momma drama               or a mother wound the same way so many of us do? Think she’s got shit to has out              with the root of the life source from which she once drew? Think she’s acting tough              pretending not to need her mother’s love               Letting the fruit bowl apology rot? Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Raising Mothers, please consider making a one-time or recurring contribution to help us remain ad-free. If even a fraction of subscribers signed up to contribute $1 per month, Raising Mothers could be self-sustaining!

Some Mothers II

Some Some mothers Some mothers spend Some mothers spend every Some mothers spend every moment Some mothers spend every moment waiting Some mothers spend every moment waiting for Some mothers spend every moment waiting for the Some mothers spend every moment waiting for the message Some mothers spend every moment waiting for the message that Some mothers spend every moment waiting for the message that reads Some mothers spend every moment waiting for the message that reads Hello Some mothers spend every moment waiting for the message that reads Hello Mama Some mothers spend every moment waiting for the message that reads Hello Mama I Some mothers spend every moment waiting for the message that reads Hello Mama I am Some mothers spend every moment waiting for the message that reads Hello Mama I am safe Image by Niklas Kickl Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Raising Mothers, please consider making a one-time or recurring contribution to help us remain ad-free. If even a fraction of subscribers signed up to contribute $1 per month, Raising …

May 12th

I terminated you two days after Mother’s Day, on a Tuesday.  They used terms like “terminate”, instead of “expel” or “kill” or “get rid of”. Makes it seem more humane. The uncomfortable, cold metal forceps, the whirring of the vacuum suction and an empty, clear container. Filled red.  At the end of the procedure, the nurse gave me a juice box and crackers, and instructed me to rest for at least 10 minutes. I scarfed those saltines and graham crackers because I was weak and tired. I’ve learned to use food as comfort, and that’s all I had to soak up the tears that welled up inside of me.  Before I was called into the room, I saw a petite Indian woman enter the waiting room. She was much further along, carrying a large, brown Louis Vuitton bag, and checked in at the reception desk. I felt sad. I felt inadequate. She looked like she could afford having a child. I cannot.  Will I ever be ready to have a child? The doctor explained the …

Told mama I forgave her, she said girl, what ever do you mean?

If I took a walk through your garden, what would I see? Told Mama I forgave her, she turned and said, “Forgive? Girl, what ever do you mean? ‘Tuh. For what could you possibly forgive me?!” It is the first day of month seven and I keep forgettin’ to bring an umbrella every time I step out Even if I did, I’d probably hold it upside down the way men tell you to turn frowns In an effort to catch all the blessings (angelito manifestations; silver linings courier service) falling to us from the sky It is the first day of July It’s ok, Mama, don’t cry. Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Raising Mothers, please consider making a one-time or recurring contribution to help us remain ad-free. If even a fraction of subscribers signed up to contribute $1 per month, Raising Mothers could be self-sustaining!

Taking My Daughter to the ER

Standing in front of the mirror facing my own wilted reflection I’m practicing what to say to get you admitted to convince the doctor both that you don’t want to live and that your life is worth saving. I make my list of evidence knowing that it will probably not be enough, so in spite of my exhaustion, my terror, my extraordinary stage fright, in spite of the fact that all I want is to hold my child until I know she is safe, I work on my theatre. Why is it that without hesitation, we always go to the ER when our bones splinter and break, when there is strange or unusual pain, or when our lungs clench like a fist? We trust that we will be mended or saved if we can be. Today I bring you to the ER hoping to convince someone with the power to save you that although your body is in tact you are not                you are breaking you are filled with …