| Subject: More of Cabbie's stuff |
Author:
Holly
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 15:04:58 03/04/01 Sun
In reply to:
Holly
's message, "Pound. by Cabbie Esq" on 18:24:47 03/02/01 Fri
CLICK HERE!! Sheesh.....
Friday, 01-Sep-00 17:13:22
205.188.193.172 writes:
Hey everyone!! Well I checked out everything I missed and I just have to say, you guys really are a talented group of
ladies ... MLG - as I told you over at the ... ahem ... OTHER board [grin], your poetry is amazing. Always impactful,
always touching and there's always something in there I can relate to.
m&m ... your art is incredible - mesmerizing. I don't know how you do it.
And everyone else - I am just so dang impressed. And ... I'm glad to read everyone is doing so well with the
pregnancies!!! YAY!!!! I am finally, FINALLY over the morning sickness ... what a frickin' nightmare. As a note... I
found out I'm having a little girl!! I am just beside myself with a combination of fear and pure elation. And I wrote a
song about it... LOL ...
Anyway ... congrats everyone ... and keep up the brilliant work :) I'm enclosing a little thingie I wrote the other night ...
my thoughts on having a girl.
*****
Letter to my daughter
She was beautiful, my mother. She had cat eyes, burnished by her fiery nature, long legs she never failed to show off
and silky, perfect, wavy black hair which reached to below her shoulders .. bare shoulders draped only with thin straps
of a much too revealing summer shift. I would watch her from the stairs late into the night as she danced in the center of
our bottle and half-filled glass strewn floor amidst her admirers at dimly-lit gatherings she and my father would put on.
The music was always too loud, too heavy to let me sleep. So I would watch her - I would watch the men with her and
study their admiring gazes as they held her close to them.
I would wonder what that was like - to be that beautiful ... to be ... that ... controlling. With one look she would shoo
away the man hanging on to her hips; with one look she would be handed a shot glass with a golden shimmer to it. Her
laugh was piercing and I could practically feel its biting energy as it crawled up to me on those stairs, as it wrapped
itself around me and buried itself deep into my memory.
My father was often huddled in a corner with a similar drink in his hand; usually engaged in some deep conversation
with a woman pale in comparison to my mother, empty in comparison to her. Lifeless in comparison. He would glance
at my mother sometimes and laugh at ... well ... I wasn't sure at what. He had these full lips topped with a thick black
moustache interweaved with premature white and his mouth would widen into a smile which would reveal nothing
about him. What was more revealing was his failure to move from his position in the corner of the room, his failure to
intrude upon my mother's physical dialogue with people who were ... not him.
As I sat on the stairs with my tee-shirt stretched over my knees, with my feet turned in to each other, with my unruly
black hair cut too short so I wouldn't have to concern myself with my imperfection, I wondered what it would be like
to be married to my mother, to that kind of potency. I wondered what it was like to feel her rage as my father would
grab her wrists to stop her from throwing our precious glassware across the room. Would it hurt to try to hold her that
way? I wondered what it would be like to kiss her alcohol-tinged mouth and then to later have to drag her from the
bathroom into her bed to let her sleep off her latest binge. I wondered, too, what it would be like to scream at the top
of your lungs when you weren't built for that kind of sound, for that kind of loudness. Screaming for the sake of ...
screaming.
I wondered what it would be like to be ineffectual against her current of fury - to watch her flood her own children with
her temper, with her self-centeredness, with her sun-like dominance. In truth, I actually knew that kind of passivity -
that kind of powerlessness - I just wasn't aware of it.
I sit here on my own set of stairs now, a tee-shirt falling gently over me and denim shorts, my ankles are crossed a
ways below me, and I touch my belly knowing that I'm going to have a daughter - like me, maybe. I want to be like a
sun to you - but I don't want to burn you. I don't want to shine so brightly that you become nothing, that you disappear
amongst the other dusted skeletons too fragile to survive. I want you to blossom beneath my light, I want you to reflect
that light so that you shine on your own - I know you will be beautiful in your own right.
I want to be your mother - I want you to be my daughter. I want to dance with you and hold you because I love you.
I already love you, you know. I already love you.
Cabbie
________________
(And Holly's favorite: http://homepages.go.com/~cabbieesq/albums/album/ )
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
| |
Feedback: 