My mother’s tongue is a tempestuous tsunami
Whereas I have yearned for speech flooding with warmth.
When was the last time I said “good morning”
Or “good night” with sincerity?
For our early morning and late night conversations begin and end in war.
I ought to be grateful that I do not go to school or sleep on an empty stomach
But I see no difference when my breakfast is this serial bitterness towards you,
And my supper
A constant dining with questions questioning whether I am good enough.
Mother,
You don’t bother to ask about the current state of my finances
Or why emotions are spewing pins and needles
Nor do you recognize that this time- bomb… has ticked.
So maybe I’m asking much too much of you.
Maybe this is all you know for you were raised this way
And the apple did not fall far from the tree;
But you cannot scare your seeds into germination.
Subsequently
I have solemnly sworn to water my kids with more than technical parenting.
To know their state of wholeness
Not balance their hearts on damaged spider webs
To know what tickles their tears
And to mother them the best way I longed yet never got.
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