Member Poem

You sit and scream at the top of your lungs

While I sit and wait with disdain

I simply asked you to throw your tissue in the trash

A request, I believed, would cause minimal pain

Yet, here we sit with turmoil between us

As you spew out fire from your lungs

I imagine I’m sitting on a beach with a drink

As you ramble words from an unknown tongue

I wait, with patience, avoiding eye contact

It seems this angers you more

You throw yourself down, raging such fierceness

Hands and feet flailing on the floor

A hammock, a lake, a city bus with a stench

I imagine I’m sitting anywhere but here

Not feeling like home — more like a war trench

And suddenly, your anger disappears

The sweetness returns to your face

“I’m sorry, Mama” you say through tears

We stop everything else and embrace

Off you go, to play once more

Bouncing back cheerfully

To pick up the tissue from the floor

I’m left to wonder what’s wrong with me

What kind of mother causes such horror? such rage?

Then I remember and laugh to myself

Oh yeah, you’re only three