M/Other by Rishma Dunlop

The f/act of m/other
contains us in differences
yet we are pulled
by the heart's tides
the pulses of our children's veins
the salt of their tears
the radiance of their laughter

we grow up knowing
bittersweet symphonies
body-memories
of blood and milk
the consciousness of
the precarious cadences
in the disordered music of love

and everywhere
mothers write stories
of sons and daughters
this one will be fierce
this one will be tender

and they will sing
terrifying, beautiful prophets
for the world

in the gaps between our words
our children's voices pull us
relentless magnets
anchoring us
to the earth.

I'm Afraid

I''m afraid I am losing them. They seem to be slipping away, like memories I try desperately to hang onto. There are times when I want nothing more, but for them to be away from me, so I can breathe, have space to feel alive like I once did. But then there are these desperate, terrifying moments that tell me they've moved too far to come back. I'm swimming in a dark cold pond, only my face is above the water, I can only hear murmurs, voices I used to recognize are changing.

My husband tells me it's normal, they are just growing up. Inside, I know this is true, but it doesn't take the sting away. I have so little time. It is usually chopped up into small bundles I try to share with everyone, but I always seem to run out. Their baby sister takes so much from them, and they lover her all the same. It used to be just the three of us, and they had me all to themselves. Do they miss me, us? I know they are happy. This is more about me, my fears at what I'm missing, losing, or what I've already lost.

I watch them getting taller, their bodies changing everyday. They are people now, where they used to be kids. They no longer need everything from me, for which I am deliriously happy. But sometimes I want time to slow, to take in the moments I've rushed through.

I want to tell them how proud I am to be their mother, and how hard it has been to be their mother. How to be a mother, you wish away so much, and after it passes you want a do-over, maybe to get it right the next time. I'm just afraid I guess, afraid of what's to come.