I no longer remember why I hated
My mother, such strong words
For pass-a-day disputes. She was a girl
Herself, and I, hers. What she knew
Of love and safety, to me, a long list
Of should-nots built on her mistakes.
On the coldest days, in snow,
She would wrap my hands and feet
In baggies under mittens,
Hoping to keep me dry with what she had.
We made do, so long,
Frozen in joy, snowflakes on our tongues.
I could not wear go-go boots
Or make up, and she warned me
About boys. I believed nothing
Of what she said, so learned
It on my own, she held
My broken heart, and stood me up
My own two feet all any woman
Needed, or could trust.
Now we are both old women.
The numbered years slip by,
like ice on plastic-wrapped hands.
It sears you, then melts.
You try to grab things,
Change them or just hold tight…
And they are gone.
key words: mother-daughter relationships, love, childhood, memory, regret, aging
