Wild Whispers

Mother May I

Entry for Poetry's May is Maternal Contest.

"Mother May I ride my bike?"
I ask seconds before flipping
head over heels over handlebars
Raw palms and scraped knees
"You may do anything you want,"

she tells me.
"But still you'll fall,
and still I'll be there to catch you."

"Mother May I go to a party?"

say I, picturing cute boys
and a sip of tequila.
I come home with clothes torn
drunk, staggering, crying
Fingerprint bruises on my thighs
Pounding in my head
Mascara stains on my cheeks.
She sits beside me,
holds my hand,
and says,
"You may do anything you want,
but still you'll fall,
and still I'll be there to catch you."

"Mother May I go to college now?"

My hug is quick
I don't notice the dampness on her face
I expect happiness but find
sleepless nights
irrevocable loneliness
all-encompassing self-doubt
and heartbreak at every turn.
In her first card, she says,
"You may do anything you want,
But still you'll fall,
and still I'll be there to catch you." 

"Mother May I marry him?"
Happily ever after
Two kids, one dog, white picket fence
I say my vows
walk down the aisle
and marry a man 
who doesn't know me as well as I thought
who chooses himself over me
who leaves me crying on the toilet
I call her crying,
asking why people promise love

but offer only selfishness
"You may do anything you want,"
she tells me,
memories of dad burning inside her,
"But still you'll fall,
and still I'll be there to catch you."   

"Mother May I cry on your shoulder?"
I beg her while clutching my stomach
I lost another child
another hope, another dream

and my husband took one more step away

I see blood and an empty nursery

everywhere I look
I don't remember happiness anymore.

"You may do anything you want,"
she says, holding me tight to her chest.
"But still you'll fall,
and still I'll be there to catch you."     

Days fade into months fade into year fade into decades
and with time, she fades too
her hair, her skin, her memories
until she is the one asking me.

"Daughter, will you tell me who I used to be?"
she whispers as dementia tries to take her from me
I squeeze her hand tightly
to remind us both that she's still here.
"You always told me the truth,
that I could do anything I wanted
but I would still fall
and you would still catch me
and you always kept your promise."

When the doctors tell me 
it's the end,
I kneel by a hospital bed
clinging to veiny white hands
and I whisper through tears
as the heart monitor beeps grow slow,
"Mother May I say goodbye?"

But this time, she does not answer.