Dear Mother

DEAR MOTHER

Dear Mother
How many times have I written that salutation?
Initially as an anguished childlike wail,
then later in pain, anger, fury and frustration
damning you and all your tribe to hell.
Dear Mother
Evocative of so many mixed emotions.
How could I write you of my humbled state?
Far too ashamed to recount my situation.
Still craving your love but remembering you in hate.
Dear Mother
The daughter of a respected village healer,
no day goes by when I am not reminded
of your reluctance to relinquish power
though it required that I be mutilated.
My ticket out was paid for with my virtue.
The virtue, you and your crones stitched in with care.
No village maiden could hope to escape you
as they cringed outside your hut and cried in fear.
Your dirty blade removed all chance of passion.
With your determination to maintain tradition                       
with needle of ignorance and thread of superstition
performing the time honored rite of female circumcision.


Sandy Wetton                                        Cape Town, South Africa August 2003