Mother as Lint
Stubborn, isn’t she?
Never completely gotten rid of.
Turn around. See?
Riding elbow, shoulder,
ass–Propriety.
Who dares pick her off?
With your navel you’re marked:
hers,
hers first.
Insidious pocket swimmer
hiding in pant cuff
cutting zzz’s in a window screen.
Barely seen monitor
2 p.m. from the dryer
10 p.m. in the backseat of the van.
Distinguished lineage
cotton, linen, flax
now eclectic:
thread and gray hairs
capture motes of the past
for future reference
collector of elm sawdust
cobbler’s flour
history never lost
just wound around a core
chameleonic particle
artful enough to pass for brooch.
Could be unwoven
but that would take a microscope.
Let her count the ways.
What’s rubbed off, slubbed off, lost
or left behind clings to her
and she clings
to you
1 reply on “Mother as Lint”
This poem really resonates with me. I’m in the midst of finally writing about my own unmothering, and it’s so helpful to read other people with similar experiences. I love the last line so much. thank you.