my mother myself

–Nancy Friday


It was the decades of her need and guilt
which drove me madly through life, even now
that she’s dead and scattered these past years.
How long does it take to slough off the last
of the omphalos blood, the bloody cowl,
that first transformation of sperm and egg?
In a photo before Lisa and I
took off for Europe, she sat in her chair
in the rumpled tidiness of her home,
her brow furrowed in a mastered worry,
her hand cupped to her mouth as if in shock:
this morning, I saw myself sit that way.

(April 2013)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s