Thursday, December 14, 2006

A New Poem from My Mother Ah, the passive aggressive poem post. A good technique now that she doesn't "blog" about me anymore. I could analyze the things "left out", I am sure not intentionally. Oh no. Well, and then there are the outright lies (like that I said sh was a bore, that I like Daniel Steele YUCK or that I ever voted for any particular political party LOL) I have put in a request to the pope for the saint status of my mother.

She would be the one that looked at the loving poems to my husband on my website, and called them "sappy". The one and the same that had a defaced wedding picture of me on her website, along with the lie that I wanted "as big a wedding as possible". Well, she got her wish anyway, got my attention and my anger up again. She really makes me want to puke. ARRRRGGHHH. The perfect posting of the passive aggressive, narcistic, mother. She can write volumes about me, but never anything positive or negative to me in any detail. Give her a blog or a group about family estrangement though, and she can post to me in detail by posting to others. Or writing a poem where she thinks I won't check .

I am just a series of labels and boxes to her that she can't unravel. Not a person. Certaintly not one that was ever deserving of love or support.

The Divorce of the Mother and Daughter
Ginny Caputo

I loved coffee,She loved tea.
We were familyAnd I loved her.

I love parrots.She likes dogs.
We were family andI loved her.

She voted one way.
I voted another.
We were family andI thought she loved me.

She liked alternative rock.I like the blues.
We were familyand I thought she loved me.

I like indie films.She likes scary films.
We were family andI thought we loved each other.

I could cook.She couldn't.
We were family andI thought we loved each other.

She visitedI got a migraine
She told me I was a bore butI still thought she loved me.
So then ...
I got anxiousAnd she got angry.
We were familyBut I thought she still loved me.
I sent an email.I got no reply.I sent another.
She told me I was nagging.
She said go to hell.
She called me a waste of ink.
I said let's take a break.
I needed time to think.
We were familyand I loved her.

I suggested a therapist.She told me to see oneBy myself.
I wrote her letters.
Silence was her reply.I knew I was losing her.
We were a broken family.The years went by.
We never spoke.I missed her And still I loved her.

I like coffee.She likes tea.
I liked Ferlinghetti.She likes to ski.
I like Thomas Moore.She likes Danielle Steele.
We're mother and daughter.We're black and white.
We're Bush and Clinton.All we can do is fight.
She is salt.I am pepper.I'm day and she's night.She's upWhen I'm down.There is no getting offThis merry-gp-roundOf accusation and hurt.It's all hit the fanWe can't repairThe damage has been done.

There's no winning or rightNo one has won.We've called the whole thing offBut I'll always love her.
Virginia Caputo © 2006

No comments: