The Mother We Never Had

If Mother's Day wasn't for you, this is.

If your mother

was caustic

toxic

vindictive

twisted

abusive

dangerous:

If she was irresistibly drawn

to making too clear

that her unhappiness—

her pain

her drama

her dysfunction—

was more precious to her

than you could ever be

so that as a child

You

had to live your life

desperately scrounging

for whatever corrupted version of love

you could squeeze from her,

then today

the day after Mother’s Day

when all the world

seemed aglow with

Love for Loving Mothers

You

close your eyes

and say a prayer

for two mothers:

the one you never had,

and the one she never had.

And then say a loving prayer

for yourself

for the child

raised too alone.

And then open your eyes—

And there is the world.

Beautiful again.

Uncorrupted again.

And fuck ’em.

Fuck ’em all.

Because you are still here

Still alive

Still fighting

And

You are

most certainly

not done yet.