Under the skin
This morning I watched a woman unravel
her world-face picked apart at the seams, the inner oh-my-God spilling out
her mouth was sunken, as if in repudiation of the rawness streaming from it
her hair was untied
her eyes wild, and red, and tired beyond all things.
the cause of her travail,
the very, very small cause
was the largest thing in the world.
A 3-year-old boy.
"Cute as a button", commented one elderly observer drily, "but a holy terror, looks like".
Fine, blonde hair framed his sweet, inscrutable face, bright brown eyes set wide apart like gleaming river stones.
His Superman cape was flung askew over one shoulder, his track pants
stained with chocolate, dirt and some other undecipherable blue substance.
He was throwing a tantrum. No, he was hurling it
casting it into the winds of the shopping centre with abandon
"NOOOOOO!" he shrieked, his powerful, high-pitched voice cutting through the lower-voiced hum of the place.
"I WON'T, MUMMMY! MUMMMMMY! I DON' WANNA! MUMMMMY!"
His face was flushed with temper and injustice, his body trembling with resistance as his mother tried to move him, talking in a quiet, calm monotone to him.
He stood, he kicked, he cried out to the air. And then
he bit her
and she exploded.
The words were irrelevant
I don't recall them, even now
but the tone
the posture
the arch of the neck
all said
I
HAVE
HAD
ENOUGH
OF
THIS
and I felt profoundly
shockingly
connected to her
part of her
knowing without any doubt that I have felt what she felt
that only grace and luck has kept me from standing over a small tyrannical body and stripping down their defences with noise in order to restore my own
I felt like crying for her
for what she'll feel when the storm subsides
for the shock she'll have
the regret
and I thought how hard it can be -
being a mother
in a world that doesn't value them
in a world that doesn't support them
in a world that leaves them to get on with it without surcease
and I thought, my God
I am so grateful to my mother
in a way I never could have been before
and I thought about that, as I held my own daughter's hand
stroked her hair
kissed my baby in her stroller
and watched another woman erupt with the fury of too many times.
- 29 May 2006
her world-face picked apart at the seams, the inner oh-my-God spilling out
her mouth was sunken, as if in repudiation of the rawness streaming from it
her hair was untied
her eyes wild, and red, and tired beyond all things.
the cause of her travail,
the very, very small cause
was the largest thing in the world.
A 3-year-old boy.
"Cute as a button", commented one elderly observer drily, "but a holy terror, looks like".
Fine, blonde hair framed his sweet, inscrutable face, bright brown eyes set wide apart like gleaming river stones.
His Superman cape was flung askew over one shoulder, his track pants
stained with chocolate, dirt and some other undecipherable blue substance.
He was throwing a tantrum. No, he was hurling it
casting it into the winds of the shopping centre with abandon
"NOOOOOO!" he shrieked, his powerful, high-pitched voice cutting through the lower-voiced hum of the place.
"I WON'T, MUMMMY! MUMMMMMY! I DON' WANNA! MUMMMMY!"
His face was flushed with temper and injustice, his body trembling with resistance as his mother tried to move him, talking in a quiet, calm monotone to him.
He stood, he kicked, he cried out to the air. And then
he bit her
and she exploded.
The words were irrelevant
I don't recall them, even now
but the tone
the posture
the arch of the neck
all said
I
HAVE
HAD
ENOUGH
OF
THIS
and I felt profoundly
shockingly
connected to her
part of her
knowing without any doubt that I have felt what she felt
that only grace and luck has kept me from standing over a small tyrannical body and stripping down their defences with noise in order to restore my own
I felt like crying for her
for what she'll feel when the storm subsides
for the shock she'll have
the regret
and I thought how hard it can be -
being a mother
in a world that doesn't value them
in a world that doesn't support them
in a world that leaves them to get on with it without surcease
and I thought, my God
I am so grateful to my mother
in a way I never could have been before
and I thought about that, as I held my own daughter's hand
stroked her hair
kissed my baby in her stroller
and watched another woman erupt with the fury of too many times.
- 29 May 2006
posted by Kathy | 3:10 AM
2 Comments:
That was beautiful - made me cry - you write beautifully
I wholeheartedly second that! (When I found this site, I sent Steff an email saying "MUST READ!!!" I have written a lot of poetry in my life, but have found myself totally tongue-tied when I try to express my feelings for my son (now 7 months)... thanks so much for putting your emotions in words and sharing them with us!
(My babyblog is on my home website, rather than blogger - Fractal Myth)
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