the doctor asked
if i wanted a death certificate
i said yes
proof of life
that she existed
as you can’t bury
lost hope
in a tiny white casket
Categories
Tag: Motherhood
Categories
Commit To Something
doesn’t seem like much to ask
of the broad expanse of time
80 years
that’s all i need
to make sure
my sons are taken care of
for the remainder of their lives
what is my mothering heart to do
knowing
i won’t get it
Categories
holding up the world
motherhood is
equal parts
love
optimism
courage
elbow grease
know-how
talent
endurance
naïveté
and
luck
just look at any picture
of a woman smiling
holding her firstborn
as if her hip is
holding up the world
when both of my sons
are raising hell on a
full moon afternoon
compulsively
raging at me about
a teenage heartbreak
call home from the principal
or the fact that i made good on the promise
if you don’t clean your room
i will
my mind swims to sacred waters
evoking the image
of my twin baby boys
at age two
little pot bellies
in yellow terry
paddington bear sleepers
clinging to their lovies
through tears
because mommy had to go to work
to remind myself
this is why i am in the fight
this is my life
i was given this task
because i am capable
enough to tackle it
and survive
knowing
every parent who battles
nature
society
and god or the lack thereof
for the sake of their spectrum child
and still manages to make miracles happen
everyday
(capable of understanding
buttoning a shirt properly
can qualify as a miracle)
that parent
is the patron saint of autism
when i was 15
i had my belly button pierced
my cool ass mom
took me and my best friend renee
to permanent productions
a tattoo and piercing shop
owned by
the da vinci of body modification
in cincinnati
down on hamilton avenue
northside
the little rainbow flag bedecked
neighborhood
where my brother
would die of aids
three years later
my mom signed for me to get the piercing
she watched with delight
as mike pinched with triangular forceps
then shoved the needle through my skin
but my mom is where i get my wild
this was long before the aerosmith video
with alicia silverstone getting pierced
in a grunge plaid shirt
with her long white girl hair
that spawned a million
middle class girls to emulate her
i found this little boutique downtown
on race street
after i started to drive
called
a little shop of kinks
it was a gay clothing
sexual fetish
and art deco antique store
with the best selection
of body jewelry in town
sometimes renee and i
would take mom with us
when we went shopping there
we would peruse
the sex toy
side of the store
cages
enemas
cuffs
clamps
ball gags
a trapeze
sex swings
leather daddy
and bondage apparel
paddles
whips
and the biggest selection
of dildos you’ve ever seen
one day
my mom held up
a giant natural skin dong
approximately three feet long
and ten inches in diameter
at eye level
and queried loudly
in her southern kentucky accent
“Well, what in the hell do you need a root that big for?”
we died laughing
and i had never loved her more
Categories
females
my thursday morning
slippered feet
made their way
down the driveway
unaware
of the doe
eating flower bed blooms
in my neighbor’s front yard
i froze
coffee in hand
stooping for the paper
when my eyes found the majestic deer
so robust and noble
standing slowly
silently
stifling a giggle
as she seemed to know which plants
were the priciest
and had taken the longest to cultivate
her brazen way of saying
your quaint little cul-de-sac
is in my field and stream, fuckers
she allowed me to watch her
unafraid
because she knew we were both just girls
trying to find our footing on another morning
our babies needed to be fed
there is a light within females of every species
the wonder of creation
giving oceans inside us
it makes me want to tattoo my stretch marks
to my fertility statue frame
to make my warrior scars more visible
after all
i am a red indian
he is able memorize
everything he is interested in reading
he can tell you upon what page
frankenstein’s monster came alive
in the storybook when he was seven
he has never forgotten
one word ever uttered near or to him
he has a mental list of every real and perceived
slight or transgression
ever committed against him
yet at 18 he cannot remember
to clip his fingernails or bathe
without being told
he will not clean his room
fold or hang his laundry properly
he is my son
i am his mother
we have autism
and our life together is a perpetual struggle
over mustard stains
yesterday was a perfect day for traveling
to a mother’s day luncheon
at a lakeside restaurant
with my family
the excursion will be remembered
for the lush rolling hills of velvet grass
on which the spring calf
were feeding
sneaking behind mom’s house like a kid
to smoke
how the kentucky red clay beneath our feet
nosy bumble bees
and swimming-by surly bass
seemed relieved
i forgave my father
for his death
but mostly
for the color blue
the sunshine turns my sons’ eyes
when they’re smiling
this is the night
i must forgive you
not for your sake
or mine
no
i’m endeavoring to do this
for my sons
they don’t deserve
to have their mother destroyed
a woman laid to waste by poisonous contempt
numbed with bourbon and burning stakes
but see
i know you won’t get that
a mother loving her sons
and i’m sorry
it seems to be causing you a bit of trouble
but i’m tired of mourning you
i have somehow become
your unmarked grave
so
i dig deep
i dig so fucking deep
nails scraping dirt and jagged stones thrown
to remember
your sweetest
words spoken
to make me smile
in the darkest hours
whenever i was full of agony
distance or fear
even in mid-July
especially in mid-July
bright side ironic
you would say,
“Thank god it’s Christmas, eh?”
yeah, baby
thank god it’s christmas
i wish you endless peace
now i can walk away