Pulsing in my finger
tips, my eyelids.
Drawing out the veins
of my cheeks -
delicate petals basking
in the sun.

Nerves on fire,
screaming a thousand
songs. Words from my
mouth, dangerously flung.
In dancing rhythm my body
strums.  

Your arms, hands, finger
tips. Your eyelids - manage
their way to me.

The fine hair on our cheeks
pass the frenzied
message of our need across.

"Don't leave-Please don't-
leave-leave me-Don't leave -
Please-leave-don't-Please,
please don't leave me."

Mirrored images, melt to
one. I find my way back home.

I know the sound of your
body. Sloughing down
into my mattress you
lay. Your tougne catches
with slurred burrs. I have
kept a collection, and tonights
is most definitely worthy.

The words
"I am a bad Mother" echo
down my spine in utter
disgust. I want to hit you.
Your first born is married to
a thieving ******. Your second
works at a pool shop. And I,
just lost a baby. That I didn't
want anyways.

Glaringly, in your mind,
these are mirror images
of your SHAME. Set punctuation
marks on all of your mistakes.
"I am a bad Mother."
Because you can not tell
your friends so proudly
just what we have become.
When they recite the
graduation ceremony
of their children to you,
you mumble down into
yourself with shame. You
have no competive reply.
You lose.

"I am a bad Mother."
I want to throw my
head back and laugh.
You are. Cutting jokes,
brutal rebukes, judging
glares. Crying on our
shoulders because we are not
what you wanted. We are
too shameful and we must
carry that weight.

I assure you, you are perfect.
Tell you we will be okay, just
wait. Fight through your
protests, until you lull off
quietly, frowning in your
sleep. Later, when I lay my head
onto my boyfriends chest,
he says "I love you." When I
doubt him, when I desperately
fight with him to prove it to
me. When I realize I can not love
him as well as he deserves, because
I am too obsessed with self hate.
When I cry hysterically, because
he can not take it anymore.

You ask me
"don't you think you're
taking this a little too far?"
And I know
I will be a bad mother too.

I hold the memories at
arms length. Feel their allure,
at the tips of my fingers.

You are gone. There
is nothing more to it. A
man of few words - I
know you wouldn't
appreciate less.

But -

do you remember? Do
you hold our moments in?
Flashes of happiness -
are they gray to you? Pale,
in comparison?

Lips tight with my own
decisions. I persist.
I must forget.  

But -

The reflection from my radio -
the flying planes.
My heart races and my eyes flicker
from horizon to endless sky.
Searching for that trail of hope,
searching.

Despondent fingers break the
key from ignition.
In the milisecond of darkness I capture
fear - exhilirating.

The door is already open, the dome
light shatters over my ghost of
understanding. I capture fear -
inhibiting.

And my feet touch the ground.