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by Carmen H Gray

Spots of blood that were a scare

I was full of milk and longing

For sustaining little lives belonging

In all of those early sunshine days

Of playfulness

Of exhaustion, too

And the middle years

Became filled with tears and cuts

The broken hearts

The diagnoses of the starts of illnesses

That had always lingered quietly inside

Like a spring that hadn’t yet been let to fly

And when it did

It was as if I was woke

To the world anew

The hardships grew

The steps I tripped

The moments slipped

Was I fit? For Motherhood?

How dare she be

So flawed and free

Doesn’t she know better?

Why can’t she stay as she was forever?

Contained and clipped

All neat and zipped

I heard some asked

The false smiles masked

The bullshit stationary yearning of others

I am not monochromatic in the realm of mothers

I am wider than one frequency of light

To pass on more

Than what was before

That is what those breasts knew

And that womb that held them, too

It was what my soul understood

Before the future layers of motherhood







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