Angry Mother

Love the angry mother.
She’s had it up to here.

Saddled with assumptions
of so many others –
battling the existential fear

which roots and cuts down
through her heart and womb
that there’s no room

for her to be: that children
are made up of wild
inconstancy, and mothering

may be too strange
and pale a rationale for living.
Loving is a mode of giving,

but of getting, too: wanting
is permissible; having
is a fine thing to pursue.

Heed the angry mother
who gets mad at you.


 
 
 
 
 
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