The boy,
I call him a boy but he’s a young man, acts as if his anger towards his mother is original
It’s his rage so it must be precious
I tell him I loved my mother
She’s dead now
No one will love me or see me the way she did ever again
I tell him I used to want a different mother too
Because I didn’t always see my mother
I saw that part of her that refused to go to the dentist when she got an infection and eventually lost all of her teeth
I wanted a mother who brushed and flossed
I wanted a mother who didn’t love a man who tried to strangle her in front of me
We’re all wanting something
One day all the fog of my dewy entitled youthful rage lifted and I saw a woman
A woman who fought like hell for every scrap she got
A woman who was pursued by lots of men
A woman who had been loved nearly to death by the men in her life
All that wanting got replaced with devotion
My mother loved me ferociously
She’s why I’m alive
Not just why I was born
I don’t know what crime your mother committed, boy
It might have been truly terrible
Mothers are just people after all
And some people are truly terrible
Because they don’t know how to be in the world
But if she’s just human
If she just wasn’t what you ordered
Then make sure the punishment fits the crime
Mothers are people with complex histories, dear broken boy
They have desires
Heartache
Great sex and bad sex
Pink and gold dreams
And deep invisible ancient scars in places you cannot see that came
before you made your mouth into an O and made your first wet cry
