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I am the Mother
by Alison McKenzieI journey on in fractured gait
Numb
Nothing is connected
Inside
Once fertile womb
Scorched
In the fires of divorce
And family law
Lies and guts dumped
Onto glossy wood floors
Bonds, long ripped apart
Flap loosely in an infernal wind
Howling through hollow bones
Nothing is connected
Severed at the arteries
Life blood spilling
Onto hard, dry ground
The anomaly of
Traveling with no fuel
Breathing without air
Sobbing without feeling
Straining through blind eyes
To see that which no longer exists
Brief interludes of
Desperate grasp and hope
Mark every other weekend, holidays
And opposite Wednesday evenings
We try to smile
Offer vacant embraces
Bleeding, always bleeding
Anemic and pale
A family
I am the mother
And these were my children
06/08/2004 Posted on 06/08/2004
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by James Zealy on 06/25/04 at 04:51 PM I believe poets are made by their experiences, sometimes the darker the better. Vanilla people who lead vanilla lives have nothing to say. I enjoy reading your work and this even as dark as it is speaks to the fact you will always be the mother. There is no role more difficult or underated. |
| Posted by Melissa Arel on 08/15/04 at 02:47 AM A raw and heart-breaking poem.. Expressed deeply and vividly! It almost hurt to read this.. great job! |
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