The Fury of Parenthood (a poem)


The Fury of Parenthood

It should not be

in me.

The fury.  And in the end,

I think.

I am most angry

that I am all grown up.

When did that happen?

I cook, I clean, I care, I take on

every kind of responsibility.  Make

choices based on their survival and

their happiness.

Forgetting at times that

I am their whole world.

When did that happen?

And if I am not happy

neither are they.  Well enough,

isn’t good enough.  They need my joy.

And so, I remember

love is here.  Even in my fury.

I find I am Mother.

I am provider.  I am.

Written a few weeks ago, sitting in church.

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