PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

On the back of paper white thighs you beat us,
with your teeth clenched in anger and spit pools
formed at the corners of your mouth.

Your two little girls you had but hated,
we're too much competition for daddy’s attention.

Our rosy little cheeks ruby with your hand print,

And our hair missing portions from your discipline.

Some said you were too young yourself,
And had not lived your own life. So you stripped away our childhood.

Your words stung like a bee’s bite,

“You little whores, sluts, and lazy cunts!”.

We smarted up like lesser Sherlock Holmes’,
and we would listen for the utensil drawer.

But on the back of paper white thighs you beat us

With your strong arms and your wooden spoons.

Mommy, did you ever know the spoons never hurt?
You could have scraped barbed wire on the back of my fleshy innocent legs
And I would have felt nothing.

For there is no pain when there is no joy.

There can be no tears where there has never been laughter.

Now, as a young woman of 24, they want me to forget.
Therapist’s over priced words fly at my ears, but never land.

So how I can forget my mommy and her wooden spoons?

So how can I forgive the sting of her slaps and the sweet nothings she would scream in our ears?

“You whores, sluts, and lazy cunts!”

So how do I erase the blue and red memory of the night mommy didn’t blink when the ambulance came, and took my sissy away?

So how do I learn to accept that I could not protect sissy that night, from her own wooden spoons and sleeping pills?

I can’t forget, forgive, erase, and learn. Some things should not be forgotten,
like those tangible, intangible, durable, breakable wooden spoons.

So many mommies stirred Kool-Aid with those spoons,
But not you, not you.

You know what’s funny Mommy?
We became those whores, sluts, and lazy cunts and you were right all along.

You were Queen, and in your hand you held your scepter, wand, staff, your wooden spoon.
God, save the Queen, and silence the spoon.