Beguiled By A Mother’s Fluids

Having a young mother,

I had to be an old child.

It’s just now hitting me how

I’ve always worried

about her sadness,

one which she created and

wove us into. I was first–

I got the most. A little friend,

her child sometimes.

They never spoke behind

closed doors and I heard

it all before I knew

what it meant (I knew it was bad).

Things were usually that way.

She was too pretty to have to do things

for herself and seems to have been just

as much of a mess as me.

She’ll never admit it;

I think I get that from my mother too.