Mother.

{a native delaware cactus.}

white lifeboat // original poem

the titanic went down;
two life boats floating.

my mother just sat there, staring.

“mom, I’ve got to get going — now.”

i can’t try
and move you.

i can’t sing
rowrowrow
the boat
no more.

my heart will go on

mother!
i have to leave
this mess
behind.

the ship has sank!
mother!

the waves;
they won’t budge you
when it’s grinding me
to sand.

mommy!

my
roots rotting
soil drenched in shame.

wheres this fruit you promised me?
all I see is endless ocean.

mom!
i can’t scream
any louder;

telling me i am bipolar,
for just wanting
to be heard.

mother, where do you think we are?
mother, how could you?

am i delusional for saying
the ship sank?

that it went down.
that we survived.

mother!
don’t tell me not to rock the boat
when we need to leave.

mother,
this time I am really leaving.

mother,
i can’t hear you.

any
longer.

mother,
silence is my favorite sound,
thank you for the pain;
it’s instrumental to my
art.

i’ll rock the boat
without you
as i row row row
— away.

mother,
i’ll talk to whoever
i wish you were
in private.

because

safety wasn’t
tying me down
on a sinking
ship.

mother,
you told me
i could have died.

why?

i sat next to you in that lifeboat
because I earned it.

untied the straps
that held me down.

mother,
i paid my dues.
and so did you.

mother,
we once were in the same
fucking boat.

You stayed,
I left.

i’ll always wish
i didn’t have to say
goodbye.

in this lifetime.