To Be a Mother

What is it to be a woman? I wouldn’t know such a thing. 

To be a mother - this I know. 

My body rarely has the space to flow - so it’s constant friction. Not enough flow. 

“You need to relax. There is no rush.” my daughter told me on the phone today. 

How would you know these things, Marin?

She’s not wrong. 

Where is the rush? Why do I keep picking up the pace? 

Time. Time. Time. 

I’m back to that son of a bitch again. Time. It’s always lurking around, staring me in the face. 

“What are you gonna do with me?” he asks. 

Wouldn’t you like to know. 

I sit on this couch like a petulant child. Arms crossed and face scrunched. 

I wanted this day to be different. I wanted to play with you. Only you - all day. 

We could stroll to Hugo’s and grab a burger - or you would get one and I’d order the nachos. Maybe the Veggie Reuben. Whatever. 

I don’t have time to think about those things on this day. 

All in due time, I’m told. I believe it. I do. 

Time. Time. 

I’m so grateful for this time I’m given. I feel you in my soul. 

Gratitude? 

The lover of my soul. Who are you to me? 

“This life doesn’t even feel real sometimes”. That’s what Ali-buddy said to me yesterday. 

I know. It’s hard to believe this is my life, too.