A reflection on motherhood.


The Things We Hold

My mother had a broken spirit.
Joy did not walk with her.
Laughter was a rare guest in her life.
She went through the motions of loving,
filling the needs of our bodies
but not our hearts.
She did her best.

I sometimes glimpse a bit of her in me.
Tissues fill my purse, my pockets,
often wadded in my hand,
nervously twisted.
Anxiety a frequent visitor,
worrying the mistakes of my past
will forever haunt my children.
I did not do my best.

She towed the expected line of motherhood,
played the executive’s wife
with timid resignation.
I tried to show my love through words
and open-armed hugs,
played at being a wife -
my heart not in it.

Does anyone get it all right?
Or do we all fall short,
and realize - too late -
we could have,
should have,
tried harder?

In the end,
are we all our mother’s daughters?




Poetry by Melinda K Zarate The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 45 times
Written on 2025-12-02 at 00:59

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
This fine poem captured the angst and stress of the child born to a parent not possessed with normal parenting skills. Your fear of replicating those experiences leads you to look in every nook and cranny for a manifestation of their energy, and because we are carrying so many of their genes, we will see them in us. We cannot avoid this.
But, remember, because you are aware, and desire not to be the same as them, you will not be the same.
DJMoody says it right! None of us are perfect. We all make mistakes. I believe the ability to see those mistakes makes us better people. No, we cannot change the past. But I'm damned sure you did/do your best and you can do no more than that can you? Blessings, Allen
2025-12-03


D G Moody The PoetBay support member heart!
"Does anyone get it all right?" No, I don't think so, we are all fallible human beings 'strangers in a strange land'. I thought you captured well the angst of being the child, then finding your parent as yourself.
2025-12-02