Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
My mother
is an ocean,
her words
fringed with foam,
her wisdom
lapping
at my feet.
She flows
when I flow.
We are drawn
together
into a pool of tides
which guides us
out to sea.
My mother
the ocean
has much to teach me
now that
she is one with
the water.
Throwing her fears
to the wind,
she catches
a wave
to greet me.
Your eyes are clouds of medicated bliss,
mean and sparkling as you speak.
It hurts, I say.
Yes, you sneer, eyes bright like clear luster marbles.
The brutality leaves me stripped of my powers.
Like a baby, so soft, the words raise blisters on my skin.
Am I just a story you tell yourself?
I dream a man ties you up.
He hates mothers, having suffered much at their hands.
This vial is my betrayal,
a slow, steady poison passed down, mother to daughter.
Can’t you please leave me intact when you go,
one final suit of armor to protect me?
A glimpse of dull grey fear shadows your eyes,
and I soften.
I have no wish to fill your remaining time with torture.
Disease delivers enough of that.
Pain is real and I keep it close for comfort
as you lead me through the fog.
I follow because I know no other way.
I am your only child.