Rebirthing Mother       1234567 • [8] • 91011
Christie Logan

Veiled Woman #3

My mother was a veiled woman
hiding her feelings of guilt
of shame and regret
in her drinking

I’d watch her in her haze, still able to function
to put in dinner
get the kids to bed
get the kids up
she had this smile on her face
a small, subtle smile
a self-contained smile

she’d walk on tiptoe across the room
a balancing act embodied

she’d stretch me into the thinnest membrane
following her to

catch her when she fell. I was at the ready.

Anais said my Mother’s drinking was an act of isolation.
As if she were putting herself in quarantine
away from her children, so close,
so willing to be infected with her,
to drink in her disease
perhaps to crave it as she does.

Mom loved
Mr. Tambourine Man
used to cry
when she heard the Byrds sing it

What in this song made her cry?
Was this a call
to her lost girl self?
A plea from
her veiled woman self?

among her selves
did this awaken?

the girl who hides behind the veil?
the woman who took on the veil?

or was she trying to escape the veil,
to run from its confines

to run into the labyrinth
even though Ariadne’s thread
was in tatters, shredded
by the voice of her own mother:

“None of my children have hurt me like you have, June.
No one has caused the pain you have.”

1234567 • [8] • 91011

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