Am I the same as my mother? Have I become what I despised in her? I worked so hard to cover all the bases of motherhood. Above all, faith. Faith in what? God, Jesus, myself, my husband, my children? Whom? Since childhood I truly believed I would become a missionary. Then I thought I had to sail far away to lands like Myanmar or Bangladesh. My mission setting was David’s family. A place I helped to create. Yet, what good did I do beyond its creation? Showed the children how to dress, how to brush their teeth, how to use the toilet? Is that all I did? My heart weeps for what my spirit sees left undone—or worse, what I chose not to do, or overlooked, or was too involved in other places, or couldn’t see beyond my own nose. Every moment is precious in a child’s life. Every moment. A parent must be there to listen, always to listen, and to discover what the child speaks from his/her heart. Every moment. And I was not.
I hear you. This is an exceptional piece of prose offering heartfelt questions that are both thought-provoking and inspiring. Inspiring in that when you read these words, you will have to spend some time in self evaluation or introspection. I try not to live with regret but how I'd love to have a chance to do things differently and better. Wrong? I don't know. I think it is human.
Well done Carol
Chanti
Using Calgary as a backdrop the author satirizes the self-serving nature of the public as it continues to fatten itself, not only physically, but egotistically as well.
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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Well done Carol
Chanti