My dad takes me to the hospital on his bike.
It’s icy and he wears his sheepskin gauntlets
and I’m grateful to shelter behind him

secure in his familiar gruff intolerance.
This is not the first time he’s taken TOIL for me
and his frustration radiates through his layers

but this two-of-us space is still delicious,
still precious for its rare warmth.
And he parks, and we dismount like John Wayne,

and the wall of his leather back takes the lead
as I stride into outpatients in his impatient wake,
making demands for his boy from the nervous staff

and taking relief from the update on my progress
and for the scar that gives me some hope of distinctiveness
and a source of stories for years to come.

Stories with my dad.

In another life, my father
must have been a blacksmith.
Essential in his village
Essential to be needed
(otherwise what’s the point?)

Swinging his hammer in heat, in smoke,
content within his St Bruno haze, suspicious
of anything lighter than black leather
anything lighter than brass fittings

- comfortable with sweat stains and scattered ash,
scars and deep bruises marking him
a man’s man and breadwinner,

- relaxed with the air blue, the tribe white
and his iron laughter echoing with every strike,

every blow shaping his son
into his family’s likeness.

I was conceived on acid and whippets, the drugs a kaleidoscope of umbilical dreams.
I was conceived on bad luck and lust, from darkness and sexually exploitive childhood trauma.
I was conceived on teenage dreams and difficult childhoods, to black sheep children of 17.

I was raised on addiction and narcissism, a love bomb here and authoritarian abuse there.
I was raised on the chess long game, to lose a piece here means to win at the end.
I was raised on 2000s tv, Lorelei Gilmore my wish for a mother, Rory my idol.

I taught myself strength in building up a fantasy on the outside while my castle crumbled within.
I picked myself up by the tendrils of a lost childhood, by the whispers of good memories, by the hiding places I found in pages upon pages of someone else’s imagination.

And I let it all go at 28. To find peace. To start over. To build myself a new castle with no more haunted corners or echoes of pill bottles or smells of ***** and orange juice permeating the breaths of those who walk these sacred halls.
Rib cage cut open, heart destroyed and renewed, ancient umbilical nooses cut with teeth.

I will no longer fall victim to my mother’s circumstances or my father’s mistakes, I will never have the soul I’ve created look at me and ask himself if he is loved or safe.

I am cycle breaker,
I am generational karma’s worst ******* fear,
I am no longer frightened maiden,
I am fearsome mother.
I am new.

Today is Mother's Day of 2022.
But I can not spend it with you.
You died over nine years ago.
Love was what you once showed.
Many people celebrate this day.
But in 2013, you passed away.
Mother's Day is what I tolerate.
It's a day that I can't celebrate.
I can't celebrate but I wish I could.
You died and you're gone for good.
You were a great mother and that's true.
If I could, I would tell you that I love you.

You always have my heart in your heart
Don’t be scared if we sometimes have to be apart
I’m always with you in your eyes and your smile
In your feet and your toes
In your ears
In your soul
I’ve loved you even before I knew you
When you were just forming inside
I’ll love you forever ‘til I’m no longer
I’ll love you beyond space and time
You have my heart with you always
You are never alone
Smile when you think of me, my love
I will always be your home

Under the tears of sun
burned by light,

Touched by desire
and filled with fire,

I am bright as
a son of a sun.

Every time I do a smell
I think it's cool, somehow just swell,
I turn around and look to see
If they caught on it was me.
I cast a frown and act confused
For all to know I'm quite bemused,
I quickly learned this is the key
To then bleat out...it wasn't me!

I feign a gaze of sad and hurt
Shuffle my feet across the dirt,
How could they think this one sweet boy
Would ever dream up such a ploy.
I wait a while, just stand around
Until all doubts have gone to ground,
Then with a twinkle and much glee
Another fly’s, followed by...it wasn't me!