Mother

Still from Almodóvar, All About My Mother, 1999

She was absent most times when the beating happened,

denying her inability to protect me,

claiming imperfection as her shield.

So I had to bear it all,

without her presence by my side,

a child forced to grow up too fast,

at five,

six,

ten,

twelve.

I asked, "Mom, why didn't you choose

a better life partner?"

She spoke of Alex,

a man she deemed perfect,

kind, caring, and smart,

but fate took him away,

a van claiming his life at twenty-five.

So I had to bear it all,

without her guidance and support,

a child left to navigate the storm,

at five,

six,

ten,

twelve.

She wears many labels proudly,

feminist, humanitarian, activist,

environmentalist, vegan,

but the title of mother remains elusive.

So I had to bear it all,

without her nurturing presence,

a child yearning for maternal love,

at five,

six,

ten,

twelve.

She claimed the weight was too much,

juggling work, chores, family,

social life, personal life,

her mind and spirit overwhelmed.

So I had to bear it all,

alone in the darkness of my struggles,

a child forced to shoulder the burden,

at five,

six,

ten,

twelve.

She said, "Baby, be tough,

I can't do this on my own.

You're strong, my child,

you can handle this alone."

So I had to bear it all,

believing I had no choice,

a child robbed of a carefree existence,

at five,

six,

ten,

twelve.

I saw her more often when I turned fourteen,

realizing she possessed empathy,

but lacking the knowledge of how to help,

when I needed her most,

at five,

six,

ten,

twelve.