An Apology

Does it feel like I’m standing on a pedestal,

lining up facts to throw at you

like pies in the face:

wham,

wham,

wham?

 

Is that where the education you sacrificed

so much to get me has left us?

One longing to be understood;

one in another world,

where fathers raise belts

and call their daughters stupid

and cheat on their wives,

make their daughters believe it,

even at 55?

 

Is that why you look away?

I feel threatening,

on another plane,

a plane you do not think

you are capable of reaching?

 

I am sorry, mom.

I never meant to make you feel alone,

abandoned, like he did.

I never meant to shut you out of another world.

 

He was wrong.

Look at all the choices you have made:

look at all you have created for yourself,

for your children.

 

I want to look you in the eye,

tell you you are smart before beautiful,

that it is okay to talk about difficult times

and keep going with no interruptions

until you run out of words.

 

I want to tell you how proud I am of you,

how lucky I am to be your daughter.

 

What different lives we have lived,

both birthed from the same stone.

 

We are humming, we are singing,

and we will dance, hand in hand, soon.

 

November 22, 2018

Acceptance

When acceptance

becomes the word I must cling to

like a newborn to a mother

why couldn’t mine

have taught me sooner?

 

Waters flow

like nothing has changed

yet Sun and Moon promise

a new dawn will emerge

if I let it–

they let me feel

because they have never felt

themselves.

 

It is luck, I suppose,

for the hearts I wear like armor

to be more protective

than my own

pale Hispanic skin,

the body fighting

itself

it’s been years

and only now

did I bump into the word

acceptance

it is to feel

it

the four corners of a table,

each chair,

each pile of rays and souls

floating from an inner window

can see for themselves.

 

My mother has, too.

 

I suppose I can accept that.

 

November 26, 2014