On Turning 25

Peanut butter and homemade blueberry jam sandwich

It was a birthday present (the jam)

She wanted to see my belly

A one-way gate-post

leaving the rooms of childhood

Entering the rooms of motherhood

This part feels prescripted

But it won’t be

Those old rooms of Saturday morning cartoons

Bike Rides and rollerskates

Teacher’s Pet and ridicule

Idle days in prison schools

Working at the swimming pools

Overcoming fear and attracting young boys

Living through mum’s struggle with death

Drowning, shoreless in depression cloud

And conquering to emerge into forest and

Clear-minded meditations

and power of self.

And losing that power to a lover and marajuana

Failing, fall-out, spiraling into

Wicked dances, weaving in and out

of those mistakes, and those triumphs

Steps growing bold

With bells above the ankles

Jingled away confusions

Melding into one being I stood exultant

God and I rejoice in each other

God then gave me a perfect mate

And now this being

Shuffling timidly to muffle the jingles

Passes through that one-way gate

Glad that childhood’s trials are complete

Proud of those triumphs, that dance

Afraid, unsure – are there rooms here for dancing?

If so, how does a mother dance?

The bells are my badge

Every step is a dance

My beat is sure, it invites

It supports, as others join with us

God and Us rejoice in each other

In these rooms past 25.