My Mother in Telephone Calls.

 I sip this tea: herbal, acai berry, ginseng:

Desperate for healing

But mostly overwhelmed:

What does it mean to be a Mother?

I live strive rise up every morning wanting to heal myself and all the past generations

Lay this mantle on both my shoulders

Struggle even just to walk and wonder: How did I get here?

I speak to my mother on the phone and she reminds me

That parents in her day took their children to the cellar and beat them with straps

"Not that I'm saying to do that, but I'm just saying", she says.

I know it

I know and I remember

"I feared my parents," she says.

Yes, I know. You made me fear you too: I feared you.

And so when the towel is not hung up in the bathroom

And the candy wrappers are not in the trash

And I creep into my child's bathroom at two in the morning to clean the toilet even when it is their job am I healing generational trauma or spoiling my teenagers into oblivion: did we gain so much from our pain?

Better to sit across from your teen with hot cocoa than have them hide in their room from you, pronounce the words yes ma'am or yes sir with trembling lips until one day they stride confidently past you because they grew up and realized that you were nothing good for them and you didn't know what the actual fuck you were doing.

I know you did your best.

What you thought was best.

I feared you.

So I was obedient.

Was it worth it?