Tuesday, August 16, 2011

A poem I love

Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the others welcome, and say, sit here. Eat
You will love again the stranger who was yourself.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life
- Derek Walcott



Raising boys has to be one of the most interesting experiences I have ever had. What is beautiful is watching the slow and steady bond of brotherhood. The friendship, competition, protectition, love and aggression that my two boys have is amazing. I love that both of my boys have the biggest smiles, kindest eyes, strongest wills and sofest souls. They truly are a gift to me.
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Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Motherhood sorrow

I thought it would be natural.
Drum. Drum. Drum.
That’s what they say these things are for.
I found out that aint true when it comes to you.
I tried. I tried. I tried.
I longed for the mercy of nursing you
I desired the intimacy,
The space that belonged to me and baby.
There was none. None. None.
Long episodes, sleepless nights as I tried.
Baby crying, crying, crying.
And My heart laid in my chest dying, dying, dying.
No one explained to me I couldn’t feed my baby.
No one told me the guilt, the shame, the pain.
And then to my horror, it wasn’t just my baby shouting at me-hungry
It was other mothers.
Why aren’t you breastfeeding?
Why don’t you try harder?
What are you doing wrong?
Breastfed babies are better.
I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
My body wont produce milk. Take pills. Supplement.
Never a compliment. Supplement. Supplement. Maybe I will forget.
I would hold him, my baby boy, deep longing in my breasts, deep longing in my chest
And I would cry, tears falling on his face,as the milk of formula took my place
And my chest would heave and the sobs would come steady like a drum. Drum. Drum.
And I would come to believe I had failed you
Not because I did but because other cruel women weren’t careful in how they would say,
Why aren’t you breastfeeding your baby? It’s the best way !
And in my heart I would know if I could have I would have
I tried. I tried. I cried. I cried.
There is still a part of me that closes tightly when I speak of breastfeeding baby.
I still have that pang of self doubt, the guilt tucked away.
A mother’s guilt her secret scream because she couldnt produce milk
No one can understand the hurt that sits in your chest beating you like a
Drum. Drum. Drum.
But sometimes the hurt is the glue that keeps you from coming undone.
Drum. Drum,drum. Drum.