The Truth and What-I-Want-to-Hear
sidle up to me like two old drunks,
one wearing a heavy coat and the other
stark naked.
“You know,” says the one,
leaning in to whisper,
“You know you are doing thish
perfectly. You are the besht mother
there ever was. Your children
are sho lucky to have you ash their mom.
You desherve a medal. Really. A medal.”
She hiccups at the end.
“Don’t lishen to her,”
says the other, grabbing
my arm and tugging me strong.
“You get it wrong a lot. And even
when you do your besht,
there’sh always more to do.
You fuck it up even when you’re trying
to get it right. It’s jusht what mothersh do.”
And we walk like that through the alley.
And we walk like that through the store.
And we walk like that through the living room.
And we walk like that to the car.
And the naked one laughs like a maniac
as she tugs on my arm again.
“But you love them, don’t you,
You love them chillens. Love is never
enough. And it’s all we have.”
