Sad Poems: Pen and Ink
Ghoulish anti-hero. Lust created lush. Feet are bare except stiletto heels. She teeters on her topsy-turvy stool. Half spent martini trips her up again. Neither child nor mother could cut the cord. They`re tangled, tied up as she ties one on Her labor lingers for a decade plus eight. Roped and bound to the child she looked to for mothering, corded to the blank slate, the empty page that still awaits her wisdom. Child`s head is overcome with questions, page begs filling. She`s baited for fishtales Ears are canyons, echo with opportunities lost on life`s hard lessons, the daily ones that were never taught her. The kid learned the hard way The blows could have been cushioned or cradled by mama`s arms. Instead she grew numb beyond pain, and strung out on life`s confusions, made no conclusions about what a woman or man should be. While mama presented extreme examples in her fishnet covered legs and tatted arms daddy provided nothing at all. Mama reached instead for her child`s soft support, a balance she so often needed. That cord grew sinewy and knotted, providing a lifeline for mother more often than child. Who was raising whom? The family resemblance is striking When the disease strikes it spares no one But who is the host? And who is the feeder? Sad poems by: Lynn Ciesielski
