she skips family dinner to run away from the abuse
a mother born flawed turned perfectionist early
a father working too late to spare but a smile
and two sisters who left as soon as they could
pursuing medical degrees for success which guarantees them praise
While she gets none.
and she calls me on the phone
her voice only slightly scratchy filled with the usual irony and skepticism
she asks
hey//can you meet me//at the record store//at a quarter past ten//because i’m tired//of a never-ending critic//who’s supposed to my mother//but all i get//is salt instead of sugar//tears instead of treats//and waiting hours//in the school lobby//because she forgot//about me again// (am i really that forgettable?)
and i say
hey//yes i’ll meet you there//heard a local band is playing//wanna catch the subway there//new york city has never seemed so pretty//right along there with you
we met at the radio room
throaty music and old coffee smell
and she loses herself in the music
fingers strumming her scratched guitar
dear mother of hers//can’t you see// she is worth more than// a medical degree// she doesn’t wear dress//so what//i like her jeans and sweatpants just fine//because of your abuse//she’s turned hard//not trusting people//and scared to come home at night
because of you// she is afriad//and plugs a straightener into the wall//because of you//she plays classical//until her fingers bruise//while singing secretly along to journey//and mother of hers//while you don’t call it abuse//we all know//that she has scars in places//you cannot see//because you are too busy//trying to make another perfect daughter//to your perfect mother//that you don’t see her
dai 