The Beaten Chest Nest, Poem 1 of 7: Mother Wound (Mrs. D's Lament)

look;

I burned your nighttime demons

after killing my daytime ones; yes,

the sunset carried the shockwaves, but

I re-absorbed them, melting

into your sweet, small form

as protection

and penance

I scattered scrapbook ashes

in the air you breathed; yes,

Dr. Spock's fan club warned me

about carcinogens and preservatives, but

recipes made the old-fashioned way taste

like mother,

and grandmother,

and great-grandmother,

and Mary, who set the standard

I strung constellations above your head

in the nursery,

the classroom,

the city, where

leaders walk, their steps

broadcasting a fight song, their visions

throttling the galaxy; yes,

I bought you golden shoes

without checking if they fit, but

fact isn't as seductive

as fiction.

I took you to museums

full of mummified wishes; yes,

they were mine, imprisoned in clear cases

that you could see your reflection in, but

I didn't say a word

when your defiant breath fogged up the glass

in the jigsaw puzzles of your joy, I laughed

in the moonlight of your pride, I basked

in the concert halls of your sadness, I lingered

I gossiped in the bedrooms of your guardian angels

and yet

and yet

and yet.....