connections 

mother folds the rug back 
while father sweeps

mother stirs the pot 
while father fixates
on a crack in the ceiling

 anything but the way
my shoulders jackhammer
while i am begging him
in some devastated tongue

 to see me in some light, any light

they say a mother’s love knows no bounds
but what happens when your own mother
is so broken she cannot lift a hand
to see the way it looks so much like your own?

i am screaming with my mouth shut
and i’ve run out of bandages
to keep my bones from breaking
in one fragile swoop like some cheap trinket

i am grasping at straws made of sand
they turn to dust in my grasp
like this mirage that tries to
tell me i have a family

i kneel behind my son in damp grass
wrap both hands around his waist
point at whatever wonder the day is bringing

and i think: i’ve done this, haven’t i?
i’ve been on the other side of this
hands around my waist, so small
somewhere in the fog of another life.

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5 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized, Writing

5 responses to “connections 

  1. Oh my God, Nicole… You have hit me in just the right way with this wistful piece. Kids growing up, parents growing up… I feel it both ways. I am visiting my mother later. She’s just had surgery… She will seem so frail, compared to the mother full of life I knew. The fridge is covered with pictures of single digit aged kids, who have become teenagers and twenty somethings now… This moved me, N.

  2. Reblogged this on Ward Clever and commented:
    My good friend and sometimes adopted daughter Nicole Marie has written a poem that punched me right in the feels.
    I told her this
    Oh my God, Nicole… You have hit me in just the right way with this wistful piece. Kids growing up, parents growing up… I feel it both ways. I am visiting my mother later. She’s just had surgery… She will seem so frail, compared to the mother full of life I knew. The fridge is covered with pictures of single digit aged kids, who have become teenagers and twenty somethings now… This moved me, N.
    Beautiful.

    • I hope your mother has a speedy recovery, and I’m so glad you enjoyed this. I love how poetry can be interpreted in so many different ways and vary in meaning from person to person. For me, this was a much darker piece. So glad you enjoyed this and thank you for sharing it. I hope you’re well!! Xoxoxo

      • It is dark, but still beautiful. I took it as how we worry about our parents aging, and our kids growing up, and lamenting both of those facts.
        I’m doing fine! I hope your little family is good and happy. 😊

  3. Hey, Nicole… Reblogged this and people had a lot of lovely things to say. You know why? Because you’re an amazing writer and mother and person. 😊❤
    That’s why.

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