Counting With Mother

by Ellen Legge

mother, when i was young
i had unwavering faith in you
your words were the ultimatum of the universe
or at least that’s what we both thought,
until slowly, then quickly, now alarmingly clear, it hits me
that you are so wrong, wrong about many things, but wrong especially, about me

you are wrong about everything you said i was.
and about everything you said who i would become
do you see. mother? i don’t think you do, so please try harder to see.
because i’m not a ticking bomb that’s unpredictable and about to detonate.
and i don't set fire to every single bridge like you said im destined to do. no
i build the bridges out of scraps and i do it with my bare hands until they are sturdy
they aren’t shaky like ours, mother. and there is always someone waiting on the other side.
do you see mother? i am not destructive, like the roaring and forceful tsunami
unstoppable in its wake and ready to crash down onto that poor innocent village. no
i am steady and reliable as the clockwork tides. people can count on me.
i could never count on you, or your bridge. they said i could, but i knew it was far too shaky
but mother, you damn well made sure that there were other things for me to count:

5…4…3…2…1…i could count the number of seconds before you would explode into a supernova frenzy. i go somewhere in my head and try to drown out your hysteria
i could count under my breath… 3…2…1… ok i’m ready. i’ve finally summoned up the courage and now i am walking down the hall to say sorry to my mother.
now im counting again 1… 2…3… days of you giving me the silent treatment. i tiptoe around the house. my superpower is that im invisible and i wonder how many mores days i’ll stay counting for.
although my memory is broken and fragmented in many ways,
and i do admit my counting might be a bit off, or a bit less
i can still count the number of times you said i would have to go away.

1. in the back of your car when you said i’m going to foster care
2. in the piano room with father, where you both agreed it was for the best
3. on the living room couch when you said you will no longer be my mother
4. when the police came, and you sent me away for 3 days. i did not come back
those are the things i can count. but mother, please listen just this once, because regrettably, there is just this one thing that i don’t think i’ll ever be able to count:
the number of times you made me feel like i am the worst person ever to exist and that’s why i deserve all this fucking counting