Month: May 2019

I Mother No One

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For Mothers Lost, Mothers Yet Still Mothering, and Mothers Who Mother Others

The Evil Mothers|Giovanni Segantini — 1894

It is Mother’s Day and I am outside walking the dog, listening to the sounds of the closest highway, hearing them, there is nothing that I can say that I have not already said about this day. But, I will say what I can. Mothers, you have a gift. You were given the knowledge to raise and keep up with little versions of you. How tiresome that must be on a daily basis. How incredible the strength must be to last for days on end. Knowing that you would be someone that someone else would look up to is a pressure and a weight that I cannot even bear.

Mothers, I appreciate you.

As I walk the hills of my apartment complex, I envision the days that my mother and I had our outs. But, we survived and are surviving. I am grateful for the chance to say that we moved through a tumultuous time and we are rising to the top. It is 2019, and I have entered my 39th year, and I still mother no one in the actual defining terms of a mother — one who gives birth to someone. But, I did mother. I do Mother. I am mothering younger versions of me, my cousins, and others and I get to see what this life could have been, but only part-time. And that is best for me. The older I get, the more I know this to be true.

Part-time mothering of others is significantly different from Full-time mothering of your own.

Fake Balloons|Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

On this day, I wish you peace, love, light, a home-cooked meal that does not come from your hands and toil in the kitchen, and the overwhelmingly powerful gift of appreciation. You deserve it. If you are mothering the way you should — you deserve it. If your children can say positively that you are their mother and they say it proudly — you deserve it. If you have given your all, including everything left after it — you deserve it. If you messed up, lost track, received help, and are on your way to the betterment of both you and your children — you deserve it.

I wish I could make each and every one of you smile, offer a hug, a kind word on more than just one day of this year, but here are a few…

For those of you yet still mothering, those who mother others, those who are growing from the pain of not being mothered, and all others who fall in the category of mothering and the mothered…

We are sending you a heartfelt Happy Mother’s Day.

2018:

I Mother No One
Part III: From The Womb — You Are Herspsiloveyou.xyz

2017:

I Mother No One
Part II: Healing & Growingmedium.com

2016:

I Mother No One
I admire those who do.medium.com

 

Sincerely,

A Cornered Gurl

Originally published as a letter via A Cornered Gurl on Medium.

I loved a woman once…

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Audio Prose

Odilon Redon|Angelica on the Rock–1904

And, I thought that perhaps, she loved me too. We find out the strangest things when we confess–when we reveal our feelings to others. What seemed to be a connection built from words and learning the backgrounds of our lives’ pasts was just… two people sharing a oneness and the similarities that surrounded us were not meant to be taken and held up to a promising light. There would be no romance, no spinning of the times, no eruptions of heart-throbbing, pulsing love-making, and nothing else that would classify in the realm of labels, a relationship.

Communication, I was always told, is key and when I communicated to her my feelings, that proved to be my doom. It was not the only time, for I am a knower of rejection. It has laid up with me, it sometimes has a home when I do not seek its company. Yes, it was not the only time, but it was the last and it hurt like hell. I still see her in my dreams, hear her voice, know her words. When you love a Writer, you know that they have the power to build you up or tear you down, and they do not do it as a courtesy to you, in your face, it comes in their work. And you, being a Writer yourself, you do it too.

I loved a woman once…

And, she taught me that it is not always best to share one’s feelings, that the tides have various shifts and changes and if you are not careful, you will be swept up with the seashells and gritty sand. I do not know what it is like to turn off my heart. I wish I did. There are days where I wish I did not know her voice, did not know how common words such as “caress” and “safety” sounded as they rolled away from her tongue. We take things along with us from the hurt places. Unknowingly, sometimes we keep them and when they see fit, they raise up at the wrong moment, reminding you of just how sharp that pain was.

I loved a woman once…

And I have written fifteen poems about her, only sharing two of them when asked, and reminded of just how close I am to dying an early death in the game of love. She would have no remorse, and why should she? The line had been drawn and I watch where it lies, mindful not to cross it. What have I learned? That the heart wants what it wants yet the mind has to remind it that sometimes, it cannot have what it wants… And sometimes, without its knowledge, it is for the best.

I loved a woman once…

And she loved me enough to not love me back.

Scintillating Saturday Share #5

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Every Saturday, I will share a photo that touches my heart, makes me happy, or lifts my spirits in some way. The purpose? To send love, light, peace, and kindness out into the ether. Scintillating Saturdays: one definition of the word scintillating is as follows: witty; brilliantly clever.”

Can we do that here, beautiful people, spark something brilliantly clever that touches others every Saturday? Please share this to all of your social media outlets. We can give a little love, can’t we?

photo of sunflower during daytime


Using up to 7 words, tell me what this photo sparks in you. Here’s mine:

petals kissed
by the sun–
sweet harmony.

Now, it’s your turn. This’ll be our “Scintillating Saturday Share #5.” You can respond to this post, reblog and respond, or create a standalone post of your own, but please ping or tag this post so that I’ll know to read and respond to yours.

Using up to 7 words, tell me what this photo sparks in you.

Can we do this, beautiful people?! Yes, we can!

Image Credit: Conner Baker|Unsplash

Golden Years

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Jernee and the beginnings of cataracts.

Aging isn’t for the faint of heart. As Jernee gets older, several things are making themselves known and knocking our daily routine out of whack. During our last Vet visit, I was informed that cataracts are forming in Jernee’s eyes. Recently, she has also taken up not eating or refusing to eat what’s placed before her or simply eating once per day. I can handle the change in eating habits, but I just don’t know what she wants.

There’s also the low growling she does when I am preparing her for bed. She’ll enter her crate willingly when signaled, but as soon as I go to lower the cover, she growls. All of these changes are fairly new and I don’t like them at all. I feel like I am losing my sweet girl to age and the golden years and that ornery, off-the-wall behavior is now what I’ll have to face.

The Vet says that when her sight gets worse or if it does, she’ll refer us to an Ophthalmologist who specializes in animal care for a consult. I am not looking forward to that day, but if ever it occurs, I’ll try to be prepared. This is life. This is our reality. We live to age and then we die, if we’re lucky to do it in that order.

I have always looked at The Little Monster as being invincible and each day that she’s living, I am being reminded that she is not. I can handle what is ahead, at least, this is what I am telling myself. The golden years came too fast. I would definitely like a refund with interest included.

*sighs*

I want my puppy girl back–my sweet, little mischievous girl who minds commands, gets in her crate without protest, eats her food without being snooty or refusing her food, and the glorious fact of 20/20 vision to return.

But, we are moving forward, there is no going back. And that, my dear friends, is the scary part.

lettre d’amour

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Joanna Kosinska|Unsplash

musical selection: anita baker|giving you the best that I got

lettre d’amour

fiction

The doctors rush towards me, they worry about my breathing. I am dying. I feel it. I know it. I have you. You will carry on without me — you will have my hair, my eyes, my wrinkly nose. You will even have my voice. My sweet girl… This is my love letter to you. Eight months and counting, but counting no more. I didn’t see that pick-up truck at the intersection. I had no idea it was right in front of us.

The brakes!

I thought I pressed the brakes!
My foot stomped viciously on the brakes, but I watched us fly into the truck’s chromed mouth and I prayed. I prayed…

“Save my baby!” I am shouting. I tell the doctors to save you, let me die. They will never know how I planned for your arrival, the gift of you to this world is much more than I can give it. “Save my baby!” I am shouting again. They hear me. There are tubes everywhere. I place my hands on my bloody stomach. I feel you. You are alive. You are kicking frantically, aware that it is time. I will die today. I will die today and this is my love letter to you.

You are the single most important thing to me in this strange world. I claimed your fingers. I already know your feet. You are perfect — my blessing. I used to pray for your father’s presence, for him to spend time learning you as much as I have. It is up to you now. I love you more than the open sea, salty to its taste, but refreshing on a hot summer’s day. I love you more than the lying lover trying to persuade his faithful mate to take him back. I love you more than… this last breath.

Ahh…
Flat___________

The lights go out, I can’t hear the doctors. I can’t see them. I only see you. I only see you — crying in front of shattered glass, windy trees, and the roar of the truck as it collides with us. I am dead.

You are alive.
They saved you.
You are here.

This is my love letter to you. This is my love letter to you. This is my love letter to you.

Zuri, you are my life’s greatest work.

Originally published in The Junction via Medium.

Featured Writer for May

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Roy A. Ngansop

He is a recently added contributor to A Cornered Gurl via Medium and as far as I can tell, he uses his words wisely. Innovative and unique, Roy brings something to the publication that I am quite happy to see. Of African descent, he weaves a bit of his culture into his words as well and learning bits and pieces about his world is intriguing and knowledgable too. His poem, Mrs. Middle Lane struck me as incredibly sound, well-written, and a mind-bender. It is worth every second of the readers’ eyes. And now, the feature:

Mrs. Middle Lane

Somewhere between left and right,
there’s space for her.
Perhaps just a thin line of imbalance,
but that’s fine; she maintains her stand.

She’s neither black nor white.
Not that she’s confused. Wisdom indeed sits in her matter.
She wears neutrality to blend with every colour,
yet her tones never match any other’s.
She’s grey. She’s singular.

She doesn’t have your back, she doesn’t stab it.
She won’t turn you on, she won’t turn you down either.
She understands you, but doesn’t stand with you.
She won’t bring you down, she won’t raise you up.

She runs in between.
Sometimes there is only so much she can care about.
Sometimes she chooses to not choose.
She sees you on one side, your opponent on the other.
She sees where everyone is coming from.
But she would follow no one to where they’re leading.
She doesn’t take sides, she’s faithful to Middle.
She’s Mrs. Middle Lane.

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.