Staring at your puffy face in the cot,

I realize all the hurt I’ve been carrying in my heart.

Forgive me, my dear child; I suppose I didn’t know,

Didn’t know that the ghosts of my past still haunt me, even now.

Forgive me, my dear child, 

If I’m unable to love you maternally—with tenderness and warmth,

To love you like other children are loved.

Forgive me, my child, 

If trauma from my past comes knocking—and it does so ever often—

Because then, I will be different.

 

Let me tell you my child,

I was raised in hell; I was raised disapprovingly.

I was smacked and pounded often— like that one time I lost a cent on the way to church,

Or that one time we had a visitor, and cups worth ten cents broke,

Or the day I went to the river with Tom and his mates while meat was boiling in the cauldron.

As I look at the scars now, I want to inflict them on you—

I want to pass them on to you, and maybe then, there’ll be room for you in my heart.

 

My mother said, when I first came into this world,

She hated the very sight of me.

I ruined her life, destroyed her career, disfigured her body—

And I should be grateful she didn’t dump me in the hospital trash.

And my child,

I grew up hearing this day in day out.

So how can I know any better? How can I treat you any better?

How can I say you’re a blessing when my very life wasn’t and still isn’t one?

 

On days like these, I wish I had grown up with a father;

A dad, a hero, a protector—

And maybe then,

Maybe then I wouldn’t have these terrible thoughts.

My days would’ve been brighter; I would’ve sat among the trees,

Admired the flowers and sipped on cola atop the wet boughs.

I imagine I would have enjoyed climbing them.

 

What about you, my dear child?

Will you one day sit among willow trees on a sunny afternoon—

And wish I was dead? Wish you were different?

Wish for a different day to be born?

While looking at your scars,

Passed down like generational curses, daughter to daughter chain—

Will you curse me?

I wish you would, because maybe then I’ll be able to rest in peace.

 

On those days my dear child, 

Remember I didn’t know better, mother was broken.

Mother was gone from this world and all that existed in her place was demons from her past.

All that existed was inflicted pain, trauma, depression.

Heartaches and a broken soul.

Remember mother did the best she could.

 

My dear child, I love you.

And that is all I murmur as your tiny hands intertwine with mine.