A day celebrating my biological role. More than that, I guess. My sociological role as well. All my failures kindly overlooked. As if I were the final winner of the American Idol of Motherhood show. As if I danced with the star who was the Platonic role model of mothers, her hands of steel and nimble legs using me as a marionette who appears to be dancing just as well as she does. Surrounded by faces who have decided not to tell me my cancer is beyond redemption, that the doctor has sewed me back together so the show can go on. Now the night's curtain has fallen. Wipe off the makeup, let my cup of hot milk tremble, no longer try to walk with a vigorous and springy step. Oh, how kind are the ones who surround me, how kind is the darkness.
chamomile sheets and pillow
outside wind rises
No comments:
Post a Comment