Life My Writing

A Poem for All Mothers

      *  My Children Will Forget  *

    Time, inexorably, will empty the eyes of my children,

Eyes that overflowed with Powerful and Irrepressible love.

It will remove from their lips my name once screamed, sung, spelled, and cried out a hundred, a thousand time a day.

It will erase – a little at a time or suddenly- the familiarity of my touch.

Modesty, Judgement, shame, and adult awareness will take over to separate us forever.

Like a river digging sandstone, Time will undermine the trust that made me almighty in their eyes.

Capable of stopping the wind and calm the sea,

  Repair the irreparable, heal the incurable, resurrect the dead.

They will stop asking for help because they will stop believing that I can, in any case, save them.

They’ll stop imitating me because they won’t want to get too similar to me.

They’ll stop prefer my company to that of anyone else’s,

…And that must be so, I know..

Passion will fade away -anger and jealousy, love and fear- the Echoes of laughter and songs, the lullabies and the once upon a time, will end in the pass of time.

With time, my children will discover that I have many flaws, and, if I am lucky, they will forgive some of them.

 Wise and cynical, time will bring oblivion.

They will forget even though I will not forget.

The tickles and the chases, the kisses at bedtime, and the crying that immediately ceased with a hug.

The games and the walks, the high fevers, the dances, the birthday cakes, the kiss before sleep.

My children will forget.

They will forget I spoonfed them and lulled them for hours, held them in my arms and by the hand, that I have comforted and picked them up after a hundred falls.

They’ll forget they slept on my chest by day and night, that there was a time they needed me as much as the air they breathe.

They’ll forget, because that is what children do, because that’s what time demands.

And I, I, will have to learn to remember everything for them, with tenderness and without regret, for free…provided that time, sly and indifferent, is kind enough with this mother who doesn’t want to forget.

E. A.

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