a poem for the drowning mother by her landlocked daughter

[crookedtree]

your winter spikes my sorrow
but for all my rain of tears i can bring you no spring
   oh, that i could settle up my debt with you
   by giving you what i have attained
   and even beyond my self congratulations
        and the shame that follows
      i mourn the impending deeds undone
      and lament the loss that always was

with feelings as fleeting as your kindnesses
sucking me in
     pushing me out
           like the tide
     itself controlled by a distant inconceivable
you exist in darkness
i cannot spark your perception
i cannot raise your face to the moonlight
my efforts are slammed by a flood of you
                                       shrill
                             hostile
   insidious
  supreme

yet those that scoff at you have not felt
   the softness of your calloused hands upon their face
   the notions of maternal devotion those hands seed in a child
   and grow still… wild weeds of a seamless sham
and those that defend you have not known
   the price of your affection
   once, the body blows, and now                 (just asides)
   each wicked wounding word
   stabbing at my soul,
   even now, always the surprise first and later    the pain

your heartbreaking past is not just a story often told
it is a slippery snake
   it slipped its grip around you
coil by coil
   until you were caught complete
you are stuck
   you are my mother
   but more of Hades than Demeter
should i vanish you would wonder if you had lost a limb
   never considering me apart from you, but a part of you

you presumed the pomegranates you sacrificed to give me
would lead you to the light with me
but you remain wrapped in darkness
   bewildered and bristling at your daughter’s betrayal
(it is not i who destroyed the light
  i have sought it
  and you did not follow)
   but should i drop in on you now and then
   i will see only your wintered spirit
                 splintered self
                 hidden nature
   and i will know
a pomegranate, from cracked and calloused hands.
                 is still a sweet inheritance
 

[Portia]

(((((((((crookedtree)))))))))
I forgot my emotions for a week or so recently, closed them down, let the greyness surround me. Don't know what happened this week (thank you October, and the threads recently which make me want to cry)

and your poem crookedtree  

I'm glad you find sweetness in such an inheritance

We are lucky/brave/blessed not to live in bitterness: anger and sadness are preferable, acceptance is difficult and not impossible, but bitterness is a hard rock in place of a heart.

[CHICKSQUIP]

Crookedtree,

My introduction to narcissism began about five years ago when I discovered Dr. G's essays on Voicelessness.  The first  three years into trying to make sense of what I was learning was pure  hell.  I went through the classic stages of identifying then extracting myself from the misery that had seized my life from the womb.  I was born to an Nmom.  Most of that time, I thought I wouldn't make it.  But as I applied  myself,  changes  came causing better, healthier emotions to take the place of the old miseries.
Your poem clutched my heart.  Thank you for saying so eloquently those things I feel but can't put into words.   Somehow you've captured it in your poem.  Thank you!  Suffice it to say that I have a strong, yet bittersweet peace inside me now concerning our past, our  present and our  future.  
She IS a part of the rest of my life.

Kindest regards,
chicksquip

[October]

a pomegranate, from cracked and calloused hands.
                 is still a sweet inheritance
 

Beautiful words, Crookedtree.  And very strong imagery; my mother too is in Hades forever, and I have escaped, but cannot rescue her.

But if she really knew, as we know, and if her Motherlove was complete, she would not want it any other way, even if we would.

[longtire]

Wow crookedtree, powerful.  Awe-inspiring.

[crookedtree]

thank you for all your positive feedback and supportive comments - i appreciate them

[mum]

Crookedtree: I have not responded before because I had to read and reread your poem for a while, not because it is hard to read in it's form, but as with most poetry, I like to mull it around a while, read it different ways in my head, wrap it around my brain.  Is this something you do professionally, or are you published?  I am awestruck at it's beauty.

One of my most fervent wishes is to someday be able to use words they way you can.  I am a visual artist, so my expression is in 2 and 3 dimensions, but a word artist such as yourself can do so much more (if they are good, like you).  I got such a vivid picture of your pain, your resolve, your understanding and continued suffering regarding your mother, and your capacity to still love.
Thank you for such wonderful words.