As my mother laid there dying, so many thoughts entered my head.

Prayers and unanswered questions.

So much I never said…

Mother, God—

How do you find peace enough to silence the screaming in your head?

Monsters in your closet,

and passed out drunkenly in your bed.

 

Mother, God—

How do you trust enough to love a body that was shattered?

Held long enough to awaken his flesh

Then you no longer matter.

 

Mother, God—

How do you believe enough to begin again?

Don’t you know the road less traveled is little more than broken glass,

and promises, cemented in?

 

Mother, God—

How do you speak the truth when they want you to lie?

You better cover up them bruises

Lest we all die.

 

Mother, God—

How do you give your self with no guaranteed return?

Hope dashed against rocks

but not too hard, it might burn.

 

Mother, God—

How do you forgive your tears?

All the time spent. Wasted.

Giving in to doubt, longing, and fear.

 

A smile cracked her yellowing gaze.

She whispered through full lips—now softening.

Her pretty face.

 

Mother, God—

You call me that name with such conviction.

I didn’t sign up for this job, child.

So stop wishing.

 

Mother, God—

Think about my plight!

You walking around here mad,

but I couldn’t give you what I never had.

 

Mother, God—

He called me baby so sweetly—that’s what I like!

Your daddy loved that bottle more than he loved me,

more than he loved his life.

 

Mother, God—

You look just like him, you know, that’s why you couldn’t stay with me.

I wanted him back then—

not his bastard children.

 

Mother, God—

I remember the time my own momma beat me with a skillet all black and blue.

I was 6 years old.

She got mad ‘cause I couldn’t tie my shoes.

 

Mother, God—

I hate what I became and I know you do too.

But don’t forget! Even amongst the shadows.

Love made you.

 

Mother? God.