I can't remember
If I loved you -
You, the woman
Who held me
Inside herself,
Watering me with her blood
So that I could grow
Until you were too small for me.  

There is an injustice
When you can leave
As though I am nothing,
While I am left to remember
That I couldn't exist
Without you.  

The thought leaves me bending,
Under my resentment -
Not just for you -
For all mothers, all fathers.  
For everyone.  

And that means myself,
And I fear that soon I may crack,
My rage bubbling up,
Ready to burn,
But before I begin to destroy
Water will leak out,
And I will curl in on myself,
Hardening like stone
Until that is all I am.  

I remember bits and pieces
Of you motherhood
And my childhood.  
They aren't bad.  

Sitting in the harsh morning light
You sleep, and I watch a film
About a girl who wants home,
Even if it's grey,
And in my hands rested a bowl of letter soup.  
I swear I saw the word "Mommy" in the broth.  

Running in the low light
Of a southern evening
My bare feet are tickled by blades
Of coarse grass, damp from the summer heat,
And I laugh
Because I hold wriggling stars
And I know you are there
But I cannot remember if your face held a smile.  

I did not know how to sleep
Without having nightmares
So I wandered
In the shadows left by candlelight
Until I found you
At the door, the scent of
Shellfish and beer clinging to your uniform;
Your hand, in between rough and soft,
Grasped my own
And led me to the couch
Where I would watch a flickering box
While you slept.  

These fragments
Glint like shards of glass
Embedded in my head
Refracting light
So that my skull is full of
Shadow.  

They aren't bad,
So why did you give them up?

You refused to make the break
Clean,
Choosing not to leave,
                  not to stay -
You had us
Jagged.  

I saw you,
But less and less
Until it became never
And you became nothing
More than a photograph
Exposed to sunlight
Before it had a chance to develop.  

I'm scared,
Because now I cannot remember
What your voice sounds like,
Or what your face looks like,
And you have taken the word mother
And you have made it something I cannot say
Without my heart ignoring my head,
Beating away in my chest with the knowledge that
I am unwanted
By a woman I cannot even remember.  

At night,
When the smell of the moonlight
Wafts in through my window
I still cannot sleep -
I suppose you were meant to teach me -
And I ask myself,
In the dark, because sometimes
It is better when you cannot see the words,
Have you forgotten me too?