Sadly learning about my mother... |
Mother, You Can't Hear Me Mother, you can't hear me, Dead these many years. Oh, that I might ask you The sources of my tears. I have searched within my heart For memories of you, And come up lacking anything That I could say was true. I was only eight years old The night you took your life - Was it too much being mother, Along with being wife? I just turned fifty-five this year, My senior-discount earned, And from my sister Sally now Some horrid truths I've learned. Your temperament and upbringing Were never really suited, For raising kids, or loving kids, So YOUR kids were diluted. I also learned that you'd had bouts, Including some Post-Partum; You spent a summer locked away, In some sad, dark asylum. Perhaps your mental illness helps Explain the reasons why, It was your sister Helena Who taught me to stay dry. And Sally had to spend third grade A hundred miles away, A prisoner living with your dad, Resented every day. Though having kids was bad for you, It didn't really mean, That you should try aborting me By drinking kerosene. We all have our problems; We all must learn to cope - But never hearing "I love you" Can leave a child no hope. I think we three deserve awards, Sally, Mary, Billy, For growing up despite it all, Yet, we still miss you, really. |