This poem by Valery Tarco ’16 won a 2016 New Jersey Council of English Bronze Medal for Poetry.
“Daughters Become Their Mothers Become Their Daughters”
1998
at 6 a.m. they dragged me out of You-
You would have heard me scream for the first time,
if You had been awake to hear me.
instead You awoke to a warmth in
your arms, and the promises
of new beginnings
2015
at 6 a.m. i wake up and drag my body out of bed
down the stairs
across the street
i sit in my car and
i stare at the keys in my ignition.
1998
You needled me a blanket of all Your old clothes
so You’d always be with me.
i hope that blanket has kept many warm since
its journey from the salvation army box
You left shut outside our door.
2014
You had to stand there
outside the window of room 409
Your mouth slightly opened in horror as
a doctor needled my left wrist
shut.
(i’ve been trying to needle our family back together every night since)
May 18 1999-2015
You’ve always tried to barbecue on my birthday.
every year they predict cloudy
every year our kitchen is littered with half eaten hamburgers
forgotten hot dogs
left from the friends You dream for me.
lipstick stains on wine glasses left from Your friends that attend.
i stand outside with an umbrella to make sure Your hair doesn’t get wet.
2008
the dinner table was a battleground
and You made sure the forks and knives
were delicately placed over a napkin,
fingertips erased from the glasses,
but it was never enough to eradicate
the ghosts
the echoes of your voice
and
i’d bring you dinner to Your room.
i’d keep my voice soft.
i made sure You ate.
2014
it’s all going to be okay.
2015
You stopped eating.
You stopped cooking too.
(sometime in the past three years
You got tired of You.
i heard You scream for the first time.
i tried to keep Your hold but
i was scared of falling
and i had to learn to let go.
i haven’t been able to keep hold of anything ever since then)
but
Mother knows best.