Saturday, May 9, 2009

Unstrung


Unstrung

My flight as a projectile began in 1944.
My mother was 17 years old,
pregnant first at 15,
veteran of a back room abortion,
a real horror story in 1942;
pregnant again at 16 with me;
7 months pregnant when she saw Snoqualamie Pass
for the first time, from the front seat of a Model A,
watching my grandfather fix the fifth flat
since leaving Spokane the day before;
her mother already in Seattle, gone on ahead
to work at Boeings, doing her part for the war effort,
having spent Mother's Day alone.

As a child, as an adolescent, Mother's Day
didn't mean a hell of a lot to me,
just another Hallmark moment, another day
where presents could be purchased,
and cards, and ribbons, and roses.

But in 1966, when my mother was barely 39 years old,
she died of uterine cancer,
looking like an Auschwitz resident,
with a ten pound tumor swelling her uterus,
looking pregnant again, bravely awaiting
to give birth to death.

That was 43 years ago,
and every Mother's Day since
has grown more bittersweet.
Mother, if I was the arrow that you projected
out into this world
with the all the strength and verve you could muster,
then you became the stringless bow
of my dreams and misty memories;
a lovely face from a few photographs,
always with that flower in your hair.

Tomorrow your day arrives again,
and that knot of pain in my chest
will come, swell, and ebb,
as it has always done,
as it shall continue to do, until
our reconciliation.

I have let these days come and go
in silence, with a sad smile,
but not this one. No,
I celebrate the 22 Mother's Days
we shared in my ignorance and arrogance,
and Mother who can hear me--
I love you.
Thanks for being my bow.

Glenn Buttkus May 2009

This poem was composed in a rush of emotion, as I read Janet Leigh's lovely words. It is rough and real and some day may need some blue penciling, but I thrust it out there today because the message needed to be shared.

8 comments:

Kristine Johnson said...

Glenn, THANK YOU, for sharing these words with me. You are such a beautiful being. I feel blessed to have met your gentle mom. Those days are shrouded in distant memories, but her energy remains in my heart.

Bless you,
Love,
K

Neil Bergeson said...

That's wonderful, Glenn. Thanks for sharing it.

Neil

Dick Mansfield said...

Glenn,

Your beautiful poem becomes more beautiful and moving each time I read it! Thanks for your love. Your mother and all mothers everywhere thank you!

Dick

David Gilmour said...

A very bittersweet and tender poem, Glenn. The horror of the cancer at 39, with the reference to Auschwitz, makes for some stark contrasts with the idea ofmother's day in America.

David

Jannie Funster said...

Major tears in my eyes over this one, really got me at the knot of pain in his chest.

And the pissed-offedness at the end, very real, very honest.

Greatness touched down in this poem.

Stringless bow, wow.

Jannie

Cherry Jensen said...

Very moving, Glenn. Your poems bring beauty to others and catharsis to you. Hope you're having a good weekend.

Cheers,
Cherry

Janet Leigh Dowd said...

Glenn, Glenn, Glenn, my dear Glenn, this has filled my eyes with tears *again* for the nth time since Mother's Day - this time because of your poem. What a poem! Plays like the sad strains/strings of the bittersweet Pachelbel's Canon.
I read your poem. It helped bring things back into perspective. I love how you took Gibran's idea and made it your own. When I got down to the last 3 lines, the tears started flowing. You didn't have the greatest luck growing up either and your poem just broke my heart.
You're such an amazingly talented guy and seem to have made a fairly good life for yourself with a lovely wife and children.
p.s. When I first read the title of your poem, I "read" Highstrung" - which I guess wasn't hard to do considering my own sorry state of mind. *grin*

Hugs: Janet

Tess Kincaid said...

I'm sure she would be very proud of her arrow.