we write about mothers because we know
they know pain. they held us so tightly
they must’ve known what it’s like to let go.
i write about fathers because i know
mine knows pain. his eyes dart so quickly
he must know how hard it is to hold on.
i write about my parents because i carry
all of their flaws in me. their wicked ways of
wishing the worst on each other, of loving
until they forgot what love even was.
you cannot teach what you never preached
or practiced. I do not know how to forgive.
No one has ever shown me.
i try watching the birds. the clouds. the ocean
maybe these are the things most skilled at
moving. at becoming and re-becoming
each day. i write about mothers because
one day i might be one. one day i might meet
a father who needs me to hold tightly,
and i might need him to forgive.
if i am blessed enough to hold you,
i want to be strong enough to show you how
to live. so maybe you won’t have to write
about mothers or fathers, and you can write
about birds. clouds. salt water that doesn’t sting.
if i can’t - if i still fail to love enough,
know that even though you're born of my struggles,
your victories are yours to build.
i hope that even if you can’t write about something,
you can listen. winds don’t change
on their own. they all have mothers, too.