To the one who called herself my mother.

A Poem by Patch Silver

I remember.
It started at dawn,
cool breezes turned to fire.
You made me,
then you kept me from you.
I remember.
The silent knife carvings,
up and down,
we screamed so loud that afternoon,
you hid in the washroom (draining).
I remember.
That slime the doctor pumped out of you,
where I came from,
but I was not a mess of pills.
I remember.
Your hands were once soft,
never to carry weapons,
scars now dripping down my back,
ten finger holds left me broken.
I remember.
I came home, and you were gone,
just gone,
my womb, my love, my home.
gone.
I remember.
The lengthy nights after,
the cold ones before,
the lullaby's madness, spinning cradles,
and here I am,
and I remember.

© 2012 Patch Silver

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register

Featured Review

Androglossia

They said the relationship between mother and child is so important in the formative years of a child. I think this is very true. I'm not really sure if this is the message you were trying to convey. But I think your poem is about dysfunctional relationships between a mother and a son, whatever may be reason that caused it to surface I prefer not to dig dipper. The poem is indeed tragic and sad and the emotion of the character is apparent. Thank you for sharing.