M-other

I wish my mother was strong. Like Boudica or Athena,

Like Aphra Behn or Margaret Cavendish.

Self-possessed and brave.

With meaning. With character. With passion.

I would accept those in place of love.

A mother connected to her surroundings,

Sensitive to her emotions and open and willing

To share herself. A mother I could be proud of

Who may not be proud of me but a strong woman,

Fearless, whom I could look up to.

Like a dream, with long strong hair, firm, metal enmeshed

Breast and armoured thigh plates on the biggest

Bravest silent steed.

A woman to defend me, rescue me, help me be a woman.

I have her. She is mine. I am hers.

She is all this good.

She is not my mother. She is my best friend.

My other. M-other. My M.

I am a woman now. Brave and strong.

Gone is the sadness of my loss.

Can I become mother? Will I be good enough,

Brave enough and strong enough to defend myself and my child and my lover,

My family?

Yes. Because my M-other tells me so.

 

© Jennifer Winterburn

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