The Lady, The Baby & The Daffodils
A poem
Smile.
Two stained hooks, one on each side of the cheek
Pull and pull; the factory kids have no time
To sleep, they keep on working, greasing the
Arms and the chest and the neck so it all
Adheres to a hug. This must be love.
To love without asking for anything, the blessed, penitent motherhood.
Your own work of art growing and leaving the house on its two cross-stitched feet.
The older I get the harder it is to bargain
For it to stay longer, the more I need to offer
To keep its interest. A shortbread, frosting,
Fresh cherries, fresh toys. How easily the
Creator is forgotten.
Smile.
The heavy-jacketed man says. He seems to think it is easy.
A simple task. A no-brainer.
To simply wish the lips apart and wide, the teeth of a jackal shining and hungry for more.
He smiles a lot. Even more if I'm not around.
Like a ghost, the shadow of his grin numbs me.
I hear his mouth opening, rusty nails scratch the side of my head.
What has made him laugh like that?
Funny migraines.
Everything around me seems barren. Not born barren, but exhausted.
Tired lady-trees, no leaves, no modesty. All barren except one.
Tall, green, feeding me so I can attempt to smile.
The trees know all about babies, the beautiful apple born from a dead flower.
You must be willing to wither to make things grow.
You must be willing to rip out your roots and move to make them safe.
Smile.
Such an evil request.
The daffodils refuse to dance, but turn their yellow snouts to us in reverence.
If the child is smiling then the mother is too, it should be enough.
Plough the garden, darling. I am tired of standing in one place.
My mouth is full of things to say but no words.
If I could compress it all into a single shriek.
My jaw dislocates with anger and tiredness.
What a similarity between
Sorrow and bliss.
© 2021, Giulia de Gregorio Listo. All Rights Reserved
