I don't want anyone to think that this posting has anything to do with my life. It was written collaboratively (is that even a word?) with my best friend and reflects her life.
She grew up not knowing who
she was or what she came from
Her mother's shame became
the bain of her existance
The father of her siblings
was not her flesh and blood
though she'd been told this
until six years of age
Tormented and never belonging
Never knowing a father's embrace
Questions still lurking
unanswered prayers echoing
"Who am I?" she cries
silence replies
The chill of being outcast
remains still
Twenty five years of questions
which received no reply
Her mother never understood
Her siblings never cared
That the shame she bore
like a badge
Had nothing to do with her
The blame resided with the
woman who birthed her
and left her unprotected
amongst family that never
accepted or acknowledged
the child conceived
in sin.
Although my circumstances are not quite like these, the same question marks sorrounding identity and belonging constantly come up and confront me, too, Danielle, and I can sooo relate to these feelings. The need to know "who we are" in terms of being an affirmed and "belonging" human being is very strong, and you have articulated that "lostness" well. TY for this. Kate xx
I hope this says a similar reference, but when people call me a son of a bitch, I always say, "Hey, you know my mother!" I feel for your friend, but just treat the whole thing with humor and it will seem better in the end...Find Peace, Ed & Rufuz
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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Big Hug to your friend!!
Love Tinka