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,
Yes. Because my M-other tells me so.
© Jennifer Winterburn