By Narcissa Lyons
I’ve not normally prefaced a poem with words, but so what. It is that time of year, and the last time for some of us weary of dread. I have clashed swords this year with more foes than I knew I had, held ground most of the time, turned tail possibly once. I did good, proud of it, was thanked by the son for whom I fought, fleeting but real and shattering beauty to this particular female. I will write more of it elsewhere and maybe more when I’ve time or patience or money. Ideally all of that. The poem below was written before the reward of graduation day and not directly related, but it’s part of the brew. It might be read, and accidentally defiance be heard, but that was not the writer’s mood at the time.
Please Don’t Wait
Until someone throws dirt on me
Or burns me
Or sings songs of regret 6 feet above me,
Lets wet glass slide down cheeks of agony.
Please don’t wait
To tell the sons I have
Or the daughters I didn’t
Mother I loved
Sisters I missed
That I did all I could with what I had.
That I held to the motherhood code.
That I loved more than no other.
That I held you skin to skin until I hurt both of us.
That I would do it again.
That I will die three thousand times for you.
That I did die three thousand times for you.
Gave up I