She stood with her iron fists grasping the edge of my bed
Her eyes staring in wonder as my doubt surfaced.
What did she want, What do you want?
When asked; a resounding “Nothing” clapped in my ears.
I had only just left her bed for a room of my own.
Now she was watching my every move
Clinging to me while I was only lent to her
Once she had the identity of wife, sister, and mother, daughter and flapper.
Dancing on tables without underwear, she shared her star and her song.
Grief then became my mother’s robe
She taught me how to sprint, and look at the world through trepidation
A teenage rebellion in the making
She cloaked her brow with longing and complaints shadowing anger
I became all of her loss as she watched my every move.
My school books became hers; there wouldn’t be saying: “No”
As I swallowed my desires with acrobatic form; I kept her smiling
I held her head as sickness took hold, making herself throw up
I became the caretaker, a jester wanting to find a star of my own.
Wishing and dreaming; I slid into the escape of my room.
Books followed her while I began sleeping through my teens.
