Nov 3, 2013

Orphan of a Living Woman




Maybe it was as simple 
as the long agony she suffered
giving birth to me, her first

or her crystalizing rage at men
whom she thought she had seduced
but found that now, she worked for them

our currency was cruelty
our language was contempt
both scarred by toxicity of our own  intent

sisters came and grew and went
from sisterhood to daughters bent
on escaping this treatment

silent, meticulous, her history and mine 
a rough ball of knotted, caustic twine;
 she unwound, showed me alone
 how long-lost was her mind

like the dim uneven rising back to consciousness
it's over, you've survived what you dreaded most;
we were a loving mother-daughter, in truth, at last
















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