Bit of the old paranoia taking up residence in my frontal lobe, did not want to blog for fear of _____________(fill in the blank). I’m not responsible, I didn’t mean it. Really.
Just need to finish this entry (number 13) so I can begin with a more auspicious number.
Bogen Today and Tomorrow 12 (My World and Welcome to It)
After an overwhelming 6 weeks, I’m back online. The world has been too much with me. Confusing to be sure. Kinda depressing, kinda exhilarating — leaving me and Sir Chumley trying to figure out where I belong on this spinning orb. Things I thought I felt, thought I knew, somehow have been coming up to bite me in the leg. An example: my mother.
One of the things that kept me alive has been that I have been able to stick her in a compartment in my brain named Cruella DeVille/Malificent the witch. She was EVIL. And as long as I could think of her as that only, I could be OK. Lately, however, I remember things, the good things, we used to do together, the things that made me feel like she did love me the best, maybe the only way, she knew how to. Not like the way that haunts my nightmares. The nightmares that are peopled with the merciless, the failed.
The Mother’s Room
and this too is me
the dull sheen of purple jersey
daughter as crone
and behind that door
the mother’s room
unknown women tend her
blonde mother of the plains
silent girls offer reflections to kiss
a cord to my abdomen glistens and throbs
and she spins that cord
and she spins and she twists
and when she is old
and when she is dead