maternity (a poem)

maternity

No one from outside

would ever know that you were my mother

our differences vast

A lush, hidden rainforest birthed from

blazing salt desert

Nervous hare escaping

traps of words, poisoned barbs

flavored with cola and ashes

sepia-tinted memories of hiding in a corner

fingers white with tension, clutching a book

swallowing tears

feeding myself with ideas

lest I starve

on your thin diet of gruel.

The Good Girl

The Stubborn Girl

The girl who knew everything yet nothing

and spoke a language you could never understand.

Even today, your version of love

Is blind obedience

Open your mouth and drink the bitter tonic

rub it into your wounds

or leave the party

if you won’t dance, little puppet.

My best teacher of hardness

invisible shield to hide my deformity

too-tender heart, easily crushed like mint

flees from your heavy brand of love

that smothers every spark.

 

la maternidad

Nadie desde afuera

sabría que tú fueras mi madre

nuestras diferencias vastas

Una selva rica y escondida nacida de

una desierta abrasadora de sal

liebre nerviosa escapandose de

las trampas de palabras, púas venenosas

de sabor cola y cenizas

recuerdos teñidos de sepia de esconderme en un rincón

los dedos blancos de tension, aferrando un libro

tragando las lágrimas

alimentandome con ideas

no sea que me muero de hambre

a causa de tu dieta de gachas aguadas.

La Buena Niña

La Niña Terca

The niña que sabía todo pero nada

y que habló una idioma que jamás podías entender.

Aún hoy, tu versión del amor

es la obedencia ciega

Abre la boca y bebe la tónica amarga

frótala en las heridas

o salga la fiesta

si no bailarás, titerecita.

Mi mejor maestra de la dureza

escudo invisible para esconder mi malformación

corazón demasiado delicado, facilmente machacado como la menta

huye de tu marca pesada del amor

que ahoga cada chispa.

 

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The LOOK (aka: Journeymom)

appreciation

2-4-6-8! Who do we appreciate?

Moms, that’s who!

Well, only since 1914, when President Woodrow Wilson declared the second Sunday in May to be a day to honor mothers. Before then, I guess mothers had to appreciate themselves. But now, we get to spend one dedicated day every year taking our mothers out for waffles and coffee, surprising them with bouquets of fresh flowers, and showing them how much we love and appreciate them.

Mother’s Day is not an easy day for everyone to celebrate. Many people no longer have their mothers in their lives. Some of us have tense, rocky relationships with our mothers, and finding things to appreciate about them is, well, a struggle. But even those of us who are lacking can use this holiday to be grateful for what positive lessons we once learned from our mothers, and to reflect on our own parenting choices.

As a mom to three teens, I kind of feel like I’ve reached the journeyman — er, journeymom phase of mothering. Instead of washing sticky handprints from the walls, or singing the Barney clean-up song to get them to put away their toys, I have mastered the LOOK. All moms know the LOOK. Just the right tilt of the head, just the right narrowing of the eyes, and those teenagers drop their cell phones and start scrubbing the house.

Okay fine, not really. But they’re supposed to.

Maybe I should go back to singing the Barney clean-up song. It would probably be more effective, since they hate the song so much and will do anything to get me to stop singing.

At this phase of mothering, I have to strike just the right balance between being my kids’ friend, one they’ll want to talk to and hang out with, and being the enforcer. The one who has to make sure they get their homework done, and stop tossing his dirty laundry on his brother’s bed, and finish all of the dishes, or else I’ll give them the LOOK. (Seriously, I need to come up with a better tool).

The other thing about this phase of parenting is this growing sensation that we are running out of time together. My baby birds have grown so big. They are testing their wings, finding their own worms. In four years, an alarm clock will ring, and my nest will be empty. I can only hope that they will return from time to time, to bring me flowers and take me out for waffles and coffee. I would really appreciate that.

Mothers Day Flowers