Ahhhhhh yes, keeping watch so the weary can rest. I'm thinking the animal world has much to teach us, especially today, in these times. Thank you for taking the time to respond. ❤️
Oh, my. How this line encapsulates what I never realized was lacking until I 'grew up': "How does a highly sensitive child thrive in a landscape largely absent of what we call mothering?"
Of course, I love my mom. I truly do. But there's no small measure of resentment for her not having nurtured and guided us six girls when we were kids, for having pitted us against one another. I have zero memories of us doing things together like other mother/daughters I read about (and envy), of her teaching us how to cook or sew, how to garden or bake, about makeup and self-confidence and boys and doing our best. Nothing. Almost as if she figured giving birth, doing laundry, putting food on the table was all that was required in motherhood. She had a lot on her plate. I get that. And yet, she somehow thinks herself deserving of mother-of-the-year status and has never once uttered a single word of regret, of wishing she'd done more, of having been a better mother.
I'm rambling. Sorry!
A really nice piece. Thank you so much for sharing this with us.
I think many of us are grappling with how to "forgive" our mothers for their inability to "mother" while still acknowledging that we missed out on a vital piece of nurturing that "still" plagues us as we try to make our way in the world as productive and responsive human beings. Thank you for chiming in here. ❤️
The sounds of your poem resonate in the movement of words and time. You let the reader ponder a past when we don't know what mothering is, a setting that is gone, to the miracle of floating memories we all can relate. Beautiful work.
Sue Ann, this truly took my breath away. I don’t know what it is yet either, but the foundations are there. And it seems fully finished, too! So lucky I am I get to write with you :)
Sue Anne - your words are delicate yet weighted. You amaze me
What a beautiful comment, thank you. 💕
My heart.
"Refuge sought in other mothers. A grandmother,
her garden, simmer of supper, surrogate
mother."
Wow.
I just can't resist an opportunity for internal rhyme. Thanks for reading. ;-)
It’s good to hear your voice again after a time away for me.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and respond, Abbie! It's good to hear "your" voice. ❤️
The hardest things to write about are often those that crack us open the most. Love absolutely everything about this, Sue Ann!
There has been 'much' cracking open this summer. Thank you for reading, Eliza. ❤️
Mothering as a pack… but make it beneficial, as in teeth bared to protect, grouping together to stay safe, or keeping watch so the weary can rest.
Thanks for sharing about your father. I love your stories about him.
Ahhhhhh yes, keeping watch so the weary can rest. I'm thinking the animal world has much to teach us, especially today, in these times. Thank you for taking the time to respond. ❤️
Thank you Sue Ann. The depth yet brevity of your poem packs a heart punch for me ❣️
Thank you for taking the time to read and respond, dear Gaye. ❤️
Ohhh, that sweet little refuge…🥺❤️
Lovely words right into the middle of my heart.
Thank you, lovely one. Miss you. ❤️
Oh, my. How this line encapsulates what I never realized was lacking until I 'grew up': "How does a highly sensitive child thrive in a landscape largely absent of what we call mothering?"
Of course, I love my mom. I truly do. But there's no small measure of resentment for her not having nurtured and guided us six girls when we were kids, for having pitted us against one another. I have zero memories of us doing things together like other mother/daughters I read about (and envy), of her teaching us how to cook or sew, how to garden or bake, about makeup and self-confidence and boys and doing our best. Nothing. Almost as if she figured giving birth, doing laundry, putting food on the table was all that was required in motherhood. She had a lot on her plate. I get that. And yet, she somehow thinks herself deserving of mother-of-the-year status and has never once uttered a single word of regret, of wishing she'd done more, of having been a better mother.
I'm rambling. Sorry!
A really nice piece. Thank you so much for sharing this with us.
Not rambling at all!
I think many of us are grappling with how to "forgive" our mothers for their inability to "mother" while still acknowledging that we missed out on a vital piece of nurturing that "still" plagues us as we try to make our way in the world as productive and responsive human beings. Thank you for chiming in here. ❤️
The sounds of your poem resonate in the movement of words and time. You let the reader ponder a past when we don't know what mothering is, a setting that is gone, to the miracle of floating memories we all can relate. Beautiful work.
Dear Patricia, thank you for such a thoughtful and warm response to this piece of writing. ❤️
I think my favorite line is the very first one. I have a very hard time writing about my mother and I know the refuge of other mothers. Miss you 💖
Miss you, too, Kate! We need to plan a catch-up call. 💕
Thank you for leaving a comment; we need to talk about this "mothering" experience.
This made me think of my grandfather *Pop*. Thank you for the memory.
Thank YOU for taking the time to comment, Teena. 💕
Sue Ann, this truly took my breath away. I don’t know what it is yet either, but the foundations are there. And it seems fully finished, too! So lucky I am I get to write with you :)
Thank you, lovely one. ;-)
And likewise!