Daughters are their mother's memories of themselves
Trapped for a moment like a bug in amber then
Left for dead or worshipped like the god she is
To herself, the creator, the first mover, the one
And only after death comes and goes and
The amber of your mother's memory of
Herself becomes clear to you
Do you realize
You loved her
©2009 Peggy Pendleton
2 comments:
Your words ring true and I can see myself behaving in the same way to my Daughter, as my Mother did to me! Help!
I love that ending, you.Your words so true.
i shall wait for her death then to understand that.
I would be lying if I said I prayed not to have a daughter, but only boys - so I could not or maybe would not be my mother.
Crazy the things we do in life to accomidate for our broken parts.
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