Another Mother

girl1b[1]

When I was 34 and she was 8,
my daughter hit me with a verbal bomb.
In measured tones, with zero wrath or hate,
she said she wanted Julie for her mom.
We’d left her dad but he lived close. They saw
each other every other Saturday
and Wednesday nights, per absent father law,
and so she knew her dad’s new friend.

Dismay
engulfed my heart and overran my brain.
I loved my girl with fervor and respect.
I’d listened to her argue or complain
and cherished her so well she seldom wrecked.

Recalling being young, I choked a moan:
I’d wanted Susan’s mother for my own…

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s