Issue #54


Authors

A Letter to My Mother

Content Warning: Reference to alcoholism 

Mama,

Did you know that I was born terminally ill?

The same expiration date you got

They gave it to me, too

In that bright, jarring hospital room

Diagnosed woman

Before I was ever gifted person

 

Born with no umbilical cord

Just a chain attaching me

to every other woman before me

Holding me close to you

A playground’s daisy chain of the hated feminine

 

But I came out screaming

I rattled the walls of that delivery room like a hurricane

And Mama I will not be silenced

I will be just as loud as you

Demand the space you hollowed out for me and push its walls

 

Mama, I cannot be angry with you

You did not know you were sick

You never gave anyone the hint

That weakness flowed through you

You disguised your fragility with fierce love

Made shame taste like sweet sacrifice

 

I cannot be anything but thankful

For this genetic pain

This wound that makes me love

As if love was the same as organ donation

As if wearing my heart on my sleeve was a symptom

 

The world handed you lemons, Mama

And you did not just make lemonade

You made sunsets stretch out

And forced family out of hollow nothing

I remember nights sipping lemonade


Love on the porch swing we never could afford

You took Dad’s whiskey breath

And stretched it into something I now miss

 

And they have it out for us

The lion’s den on our porch

Men drinking and laughing with Dad

The ones you told me not to speak to

Mama, I do not have your fear yet

But don’t worry for me

I am learning it

 

Does he know Mama?

Does he know these men,

Fathers and husbands and friends

Does he know that they would

surely eat me

If given the chance?

 

By the way he smiles

and picks meat out of his teeth

I want to think he doesn’t

But don’t worry for me, Mama

I am learning still

 

Mama, I do not wear my heart on my sleeve

Not like I’m supposed to

Mama can’t you see it?

I wear my heart on everyone else’s sleeve

 

I see myself in every other

woman’s face on this bus

I pray they get home safe

My sisters in battle

Other faces gaunt with my illness

Don’t we all suffer it Mama?

 

I cannot say I want healing

I do not beg for forgiveness

I bite into the apple with sharp teeth


And a smile so wide it splits my face in two


I cannot be anything but fiercely proud

We are the weeds they could not squander

Dandelions splitting up the concrete

And I see us in everything Mama

We are armed to the teeth

Love and pepper spray and lip gloss tucked into our purses

 

So I will do what you did.

I will bring a little girl into this world

And when her scream echoes through the hospital

I will listen with pride

I will be Mama before I am person

Exist somewhere between daughter

And sister, and wife

I will enjoy its purgatory for her sake.

 

When she demands a tea party

With a voice too big for her small chest

I will creak my aging joints onto the floor

And play pretend for hours

 

I will weave love into empty spaces

Sit her on my lap on our imaginary porch swing

Braid confidence and ferocity into her soft curls

And stretch sunsets long past dark

 

And when she is sent out into this world

So terrifyingly alone

I will hand her pepper spray

And tell her to look at her sister’s sleeves

I will hope I have done enough so that


She will know what that means. 


A Shirt for One

(Almost) Post-Pandemic