The Mother Poem, Let Me Go Through the Alphabet of Curses

Space is the canvas of our love, mother.

It's not the infinity
of opening your mouth
for apples and sparkling orange juice.
It is so dark, it is so studied, it is so
unknown. French doors

open to the seasons of our love
qualified by the designs
of infancy, of toddlerhood and so on
to the oft-mentioned adolescence,
etc., etc. You taught me.
You taught me. You taught me
how to break asparagus,
pop, crack, done. I sip

at your wisdom and eat my own,
hope to hold it down. Tell me again
what you taught me? I won't
listen (again). Instead I'll listen
to my heart inform me of what most people
hear: you are the only one
who can love me unconditionally. I weep

for those who are not your children.
They comprise an alphabet of curses.

Copyright Louise Robertson