forever, i am adrift in this endless river, the river of mothers. rendered clean by the hands of matriarchs in long skirts, callused hands, faces marked by hardship. this endless froth of those souls who came before and gave, gave and gave.
they gave life and they gave blood.
they were not perfect, this i know.
we live in a world that asks its bloodiest givers of life to also be mild, to obey.
this is not in the nature of mothers,
this is not in the nature of rivers,
my mothers hands, that soothed my fevers and pulled my hair are small and tipped in nicotine stained nails, and she is beautiful and imperfect, in her skirts and her silver.
she’s a mean bitch and i am too and i love her as i love myself as both fire and flame.
this endless river of mothers that sweeps me under with stories of borscht and blood, and madness, and love, this wild and unfettered love of children and men and small animals and the smoke we inhale along the way through girlhoods to womanhoods.
my mother, my first champion, my first terror, my first friend, my true friend.
i used to say i never wanted to be anything like her, because she did not understand me, and i felt offended by this. selfishly, i believed, she was my mother, it is in her job to understand. but i didn’t understand her, either. age gave me this knowledge. you should pray you also receive this truth in your life.
i didn’t understand her hands or sensitive nature, or her yearning spirit.
now, i wish more than anything else to be as my mother.
unwaveringly kind even in the face of betrayal.
but a mean fucking bitch who won’t let you forget what you fucking did and if you feel guilty for it, you fucking should. how dare you ask me about my mother. you hated her and were cruel to her and you stand here in this godforsaken gas station and ask after her like i should give you updates like a living twitter account for a grieving widow. leave my mother alone.
i would die for my mother, kill for her, make my blood into healing soup for her, this mother, this river. i would give her everything, and so i make brunch and give her roses and i wonder if that’s enough.
she is funny and wild, this mother, this river, in her skirts, and her rings.
so sweep me under, mother river, river mother.
sweep me under,
sweep me under
adrift
in this endless river
this endless river of mothers
happy mother’s day, to all mothers, all who had to be their own mothers, all who mother this world and their communities. may we all one day be as you, and may we all kneel inside this sacred river.
hospital vespers 