Mother

Mother,

How long has it been

Since the chord between us became a phantom,

Invisible to your eyes, intangible to my hands?

Was it after the placenta,

Biology’s metaphor for me existing solely within you,

Was it right after my flesh was tied off from yours

That you lost your way back to me?

If I could, I would reach for it with my hands,

Hold it up to your face until you can’t refuse to see it.

What is this weight of loss that you feel,

That when I leave the room,

Like an infant playing peek-a-boo,

You scream and cry as though I were gone forever?

As though I had died without saying goodbye.

And what is this empty space that you hold

When an intimate thought of mine refuses to be expressed in words,

As though you don’t have the direct path to it, an intuition?

You claw and scrapple at the door to my heart,

You try to beat it down,

Use the full force of your words to shove me back in the womb,

When we both know that I belong here,

And my existence, as my own separate body, a piece of this world,

Never closed me off from you that way.

Why would you scream and manipulate and beat down my door,

A door that was built to shelter our safe commune together?

The wood is warped and sticky now,

It will creak and complain as you pull it aside,

And a guard dog stands watch, with teeth bared,

Against another attack that could leave the structure broken, irreparable.

But with a soft word,

With an unarmed and friendly approach,

She would stand down before you.

Mother,

I want so badly to lead you along the golden thread between us,

Just put down your arms.