I’m in the kitchen and I’ve burned the bacon for our sandwiches.
You’re in the next room on your iPad, doing I don’t know what.
Silently, automatically, almost subconsciously, I sink,
repeating the mantra of a programmed white woman:
I’m a bad mom.
Fucked up again.
Not good enough, never good enough.
Must try harder.
Confess, as if they were sins:
I smoke weed
I drink, maybe too much
I get lost in the suffering of this world
I’m distracted
But it’s a lie.
I’m not a bad mom.
And if you ask me (which you won’t),
Why is this bacon burned?
I will tell you the truth: because I care, my love.
I am paying attention.
I am seeing people erased in real time
And I care
And I’m scared
And I love you
And I love them
And I love all of us
And it’s not that hard to do why can’t we just Love?
Stop
Stop killing
Cease
Fire
I’ve burned the bacon
—as if it makes one goddamn bit of difference!
We still will eat tonight.
I’ll take the most charred pieces,
Trying to shield you from life’s disappointments
In this and a thousand other absurdly tiny ways.
Knowing that I can’t protect you
But trying
Because I’m ashamed to face the weight of your pain.
I must face it! and that of all children everywhere
—which is all of us, actually,
in order to stay human.
To transform.
To get free.
The truth is, even if we didn’t eat tonight,
Even if we lost everything,
Even if we lost each other,
I wouldn’t be a bad mom.
There’s no such thing.
There are only bad systems
Promising power
Dishing out poison
And telling us to like it.
pruneandpear 