Mother None, III
by Madeline Neway
April I have aged backwards once again
And just as before you have played me poor.
Just as before the dirt tracks behind me
And I am not the pristine woman I tell
Myself I will become, year after year.
This year is even worse. Dirt trails behind me,
Dirt caked on so thick my pink skin is
Impregnable by light. But I guess not quite.
April, I tell you I am waiting to be changed,
For your days to help me shed a new skin,
To glisten with tolerance and to blink away sins.
But denial comes natural to me, and you,
Mother who tries, I cannot seem to let you in.
Tell me, Mother distant, what month laid bare
The truth of your Daughter Disappointment?
April I came alive and April I am nothing
More than the sighs I heave as
I reject and I receive. Crib and quilt
Whisper at me and I cannot shoo them,
Tell one from the other, oh,
Mother. I’ve almost gleaned a new identity.
April, I’m sorry, I know you did try, only
I cannot be a mother when I treat my own unkind.