To Become A Mother

To Become A Mother
When it is least expected
Least acceptable
Least convenient
Least conceivable
Least reasonable
Least affordable
Least responsible
Least of all and least of all
Least wanted or ready to become a Mother

Is like stepping through a portal that leads you away from
Who you used to be
Who you would've been
Who you would've liked to become
Who you thought you were
Who you never thought you would be

And it takes you to
Where you ought to be
Where you are needed
Where you must provide the way
Where you least expect it
Where you can never return from
Were you are changed forever
Where love has a face and laughter
Where you can watch it sleep and grow
Where you learn about life
Where you begin a legacy
Where you find your way
Where you start to live

An excerpt, of an excerpt.

...A million sharp points splinter in my chest. I struggle to catch my breath. I watch the world go by but not through regular sight. I feel it in the pit of my stomach; a place that though is in the center of me feels like a long lost memory I once had in a place I only visited once and have never returned to. I am at once drowning in a sorrow that is too strong to do anything but submit to it. There are no body parts you can flail to over come it. They can only show resignation with their tears or not at all. There are people who live like this aren't there? They live in silent battles so deep rooted, too deep down in that cavernous pit of their bellies to push up to the top of their tongues. Colliding with teeth and lips is an impossible feat for these sad small words. Instead they live in the dark, and mold to it. Becoming the lining of where it resides. Consuming it's owner. Sadness is the strangest companion in life. No one on the outside can see it except for when it's imprints mark the space outside of our eyes and around our mouths. Our bodies doing the work our words cannot. Blanketed beneath the weight of sadness, it does not warm you but it does not let you slip from it's cover either.





I was asked by a substitute teacher in the 6Th grade why I was reading such a sad book in class one day. It wasn't unusual and it still isn't to catch me reading whenever there's a quiet moment, somtimes even at a long red light. Anyway, at this particular time, I was reading Izzy Willy Nilly a fictional story about a 16 year old girl who loses her leg as a result of a car accident. At first and for a long time I felt embarrassed at his remark. As I got older and the more books I read I realized finally that the reason I like such sad books is because they are some of the most poetic, inspiring, time-stopping stories I have read. I decided I want to write like that. I want to know how to say things that people will read and have that feeling of recognition in them that cannot be explained nor denied. I feel it in my bones that I could do this. I am waiting for my story to come. In the mean time I write short stories. I am still looking for a place to share them but I think it's a blessing that I cannot yet. I still need practice. Thank God for blogger! Here at least I can feel that release that comes with seeing words as they manifest on the screen by the work of my own hand (or finger tips, whichever.) That's all I have for now...I'll keep you posted.