NHT's Writing Desk



a mother's lament, or
stream-of-consciousness, interrupted

she lives each and every day an open wound 
seething in longing for her children, and her grandchildren -
there is no relief to be had ...
all destroyed by mental illness which implicates her as the cause
but her heart knows otherwise - 
even her stars shine on words like like faultless, powerless, and destiny 
(the latter not to be confused with karma)

and she knows what her grandchildren will know of her:
that she was the marauder, the villain, the family pariah -
so much easier to slander the one than to implicate the Beloved,
the one whose mental illness is truly at the root of this destruction -

(did you know that mental illness can be learned as opposed to inherited?)

oh how different her life if she*d had sons as she*d believed ...
yet how delighted she was to have daughters -
at least until this mudslide revealed  that the life she was living 
wasn't the one she thought she was building ...
and the irony: before children she'd not had one single regret -

post-motherhood she had only a single regret, and that was of having had children at all ...
it taunted her very existence to watch the untoward pain 
spilling down from generation to generation of her own progeny -

never mind that to those she loved most, the lie said she alone had caused the suffering -
how cruel a god to give you what you dream of most,
only to take it away just when you need it the most -
how is it that love can be so vile and poisonous?

. . . jeez, don*t be so maudlin



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related reading: broken heart syndrome, a real medical condition
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