The Fight

There is a thread,
very thin but filled with light,
that runs between
you and me.
It grew coiled in my
womb with you
and unraveled,
soft as your own downy hair
when I pushed you out.

Once, during a fight,
you screamed
and would not stop.
I held on until
I could do nothing but scream myself.
I pulled out my
scissors
and severed our thread.
Unwavering, I told your father,
“I’m leaving,”
and I crashed down the
sidewalk in my socks
truly believing
I would never come back.
I was amazed
at the freedom,
illicit and thrilling.

But what I did not see
when I cut our thread
was you,
brow worked into a furrow,
hurriedly tying on a new thread.

When I looked down
and saw the thread,
my anger and vengeance melted.
Suddenly I was just a
mother on a walk,
walking back home to you.