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Mother's Day
by Laura DoomAhh yes--sex!
You know, I was once in love
with that monosyllabic misery;
the disenfranchised grunt
of party animals feeding
fertile manifestos to the proselytic
poor. And we swallowed it whole,
the profile, the passion, the promise
of a full-blooded election.
It wasn't a choice--we were the chosen
singled out, not for love of politics
but devotion to the politics of love.
And for lovers, loyalty was packaged
branded, supplied on demand. We served
in the shadow of full fiscal nudity
danced in the gutter and sang
for our succour, the vital acoustics
of self-harming budgets, whose cuts
bled sufficiency dry; we survived
on benefits paid out in kind.
And so it went on, the drone
of reminiscence calling nature
to account. Too much information
but nothing for free. For the purposes
of cogency, I now remember thinking
at the time, "What does this have
to do with the birds and the bees?"
As she reviled her misspelt youth
I grew old on her shoulder, waiting
for the campaign trail to go cold. 03/02/2012 Posted on 03/02/2012
Copyright © 2024 Laura Doom
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jim Benz on 03/02/12 at 11:49 PM I read this poem as a double reflection in two voices--a mother reflecting on on her own "misspelt youth" (in the first two stanzas) and (presumably) a daughter reflecting on her own experience of that same reflection, wondering if it will ever just stop. What strikes me is the use of alliteration and a keen ear for the interrelated sound of words that cogently pulls me through the sexual-political flow of language that's not quite metaphor, but not quite not metaphor either. Leaving me to think the second voice--growing old on the first voice's shoulder--is as much a chip in the politics of the mother's reminiscence as it is a daughter. Which then leads me back to the telling, all-encompassing possesive in the title. Very nice. (Or not nice, depending how you look at it ...) |
| Posted by Jim Benz on 03/02/12 at 11:50 PM Oh, look how bold I am! [maybe I should just give up on using html tags ...] |
Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 03/03/12 at 04:02 PMAh, miss doom, symbolism pours out of your pores in its finest moments
everything Jim wrote
everything you write
and the last portion telling "I grew old on her shoulder"...
I remember growing cold on her shoulder
feeling older and colder by far too young
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| Posted by Nadia Gilbert Kent on 03/03/12 at 11:04 PM This is easily related to, I would guess, for any girl with a mom that came of age in the '65-'80s. I can definitely remember distinct moments of "growing older on a shoulder." Rich soil, Doom. |
| Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 03/04/12 at 09:02 PM i especially like the second stanza. i think it's the dichotomy of the love of politics vs. the politics of love. awesome! |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/05/12 at 12:14 AM There is so much in this, and tho' it may be more personal and familial to some, the politics just leaps at me due to the present issues in the news. The Mother's Day title takes me in many directions, the potential of it, and those wanting to dictate who and when one gets to "celebrate" it. Yes, I would say this is pregnant with meaning. Thank you. |
| Posted by Kara Hayostek on 03/08/12 at 03:24 PM I love this! I like the political language, but the end makes me wonder what I am doing...is this how my daughter will one day see me? |
| Posted by Ulyss Rubey on 08/30/12 at 02:04 AM Sounds like you caught her at a bad time-asking about birds and bees while she was back there somewhere in a 60s commune. Well, she had a good time and got a hell of a daughter out of it. |
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