I’m pondering, today, like many days, life and death and relationships and the rush of trying to accomplish everything in 24 hours and for what, besides a tear in our nylons? (Okay. I don't wear nylons, but I do wear tights! I'm being metaphoric here. ;) ) What are we exactly rushing about for? How many of you can relate to THAT? While in the grocery store checkout line, my mind drifted to my mom and a poem poured out of me and onto the note pad on my phone. And after I wrote it, I thought back to an older post I wrote, about the way I’ve always been compelled to write this way, this stream-of-consciousness way, even in the weirdest of places: I was the girl who always read and who carried her notebook with her everywhere to jot down things she observed: the woman smoking with her coat pulled tight against herself in the cold wind; the shy teenage boy glancing at me from under his long bangs, fidgety and nervous; or the plump 3-year-old pulling on her mother’s pants in defiance to get attention. I was always looking for a “story.” And though I don’t carry a notebook anymore, my phone has replaced it. Easier even to record ideas, thoughts, snippets. The truth is, I wrote a lot about my mom too. I had a complicated relationship with her. Can any of you relate? I wonder if it’s more common among mother/daughter and father/son relationships. That dynamic. Those high expectations. I wrote about this before: (loveand-all-its-idiosyncrasies.html). You see, my mom had a tough life, dreams ripped from her more than a few times, and she was what one may call a pessimist as a result. She was harsh. She was critical. She didn’t like me laughing too much. She often questioned my choices. Do you want people to stare at you? Aren’t those jeans a little too tight? Isn’t that skirt too short? Must you make such a fuss with your hair? You know you’re pretty, but you do realize your looks will fade? Aren’t you going to eat something else? Have you practiced this week? Can’t you be more like your brother? But what I realized in that checkout line, now that my mother has passed, all those things I used to do for her when she was ill, that I sometimes internally complained about, produced an bit of an epiphany in me…and hence, the poem. The tick tock is deafening. Muscles ache from strain. Rising sun. Feet on cold oak. Passing cars, honking horns, angry fists of move over and fuck yellow lights. Undress. Dress. Leotard. Bun just right. Spray in place. Grab an apple. Keys? Don't forget the milk for Mom. Dash to the express checkout and curse and hiss Into the back head of the too-chatty, blue hair, fumbling in her too-big purse, fingers not quick enough. Pour a quick glass of red to match cursory letters on black and white Times New Roman font In teacher's ink. Speed-dial family. Snapchat friends and try to breathe. It's what you've waited for. Except now, the silenced whirring rush tramples the solace because you realize that the only way to stop is to admit: Not anymore. And you look to see Irony holding Time's hand with a grim grin. Every year. One fewer thing to do. One minute. One second. Closer to death. It might seem a little dark from Rosemary, the romantic. I have a lot of them. These kinds of poems. And they probably don’t make sense to anyone but me. But they’re there. Often. And just below the surface. Always. It's okay. We all have a little dark in our light. I'm just grateful I have this little thing called writing to allow me to see them. It makes me whole.
7 Comments
shelly Gasper gasper
2/22/2018 19:35:34
Just amazing, I love your poems RB. I love others that are such deep thinkers. It's nice to know that others exist that are like minded. Poems are like thinking aloud, feeling aloud, an expression that everyone in one poem or another can resonate to. xxo
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R.B.
3/27/2018 14:18:41
You're a sweetheart. Thank you for that.
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Master
2/22/2018 21:56:15
Better and better.
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R.B.
3/27/2018 14:18:59
Oh?
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2/23/2018 07:54:23
I understand your complicated relationship with your Mom. I too had, at times, difficulties with mine. However she developed a debilitating condition for the last 12 years of her life and I ended up taking care of her. I learned a lot more about her during that time, and came to understand what had made her the way she was. By the time she died in my arms, of a heart attack I had more or less forgiven any slights or disappointments. I let it all go for my own salvation as much as anything. She wasn't the best Mum in the world, but she was the best she knew how to be. I have genuine affection for her and her memory now. Now I look after my 94 year old Dad - and that is another lesson in patience and letting go. Relationships are hard. But I'm glad I had them.
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R.B.
3/27/2018 14:20:36
Rachel--You are a light. You know that? I'm in awe of everything you've been through and how you continue to be so kind and reflective. So glad we met!
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I LOVE to write and read. I particularly enjoy reading erotic romance that has tons of emotion in it. I hope you will ask me questions and share your favorite authors and novels. I welcome all feedback.
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