mother.

what does it mean
to be a mother? you gave up
20-odd years of your life
for me, for my sister. it’s not
a sacrifice I myself
am willing to make.
even though you fucked it up –
your true charge, which was
letting me be myself, and
teaching me that I was okay,
good enough, whatever –
you carried me in your body
for ten months, were in labor
for twenty four hours
(on Labor Day, which is
an amusing tidbit and
a great icebreaker
at parties) and managed
to keep my sister and I
adequately fed and clothed
for fourteen years
despite crippling depression
and rampant alcoholism. for this
I owe you a debt
I can never repay. without you
I would not exist
this time around. for that,
I thank you. you didn’t have
to do that. happy
mother’s day, for what
it’s worth.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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