The Thick Mist of Motherhood

In the thick mist of motherhood

The desire to tug at one’s hair

And pull at one’s skin

Is intense.

There are jokes about

Mothers hiding in the closet

The bathroom, the pantry

Anywhere that locks.

Anywhere they can find refuge.

But I know why they are there.

There is too much

Placed on the shoulders of a mother.

And you know what thanks she gets?

None.

She is supposed to be satisfied by the errant

“I love yous”

So seldom let lose

From the lips

Of those she bore.

It’s not enough

To say women can have it all

When they can’t even

Have what they want

Or what they wished for.