1. Circadian Rhythm

    by Alan Hanson

    My mother left when I was ripe
    and I couldn’t gestate
    what kind of absence
    that could breed; a subtraction
    of moments like
    when I once hugged her
    so hard, flushed,
    so scared, hush,
    that the rhythm of her heart
    felt more familiar
    than anything ever
    because I remembered, in her,
    being grown
    and being home.

    I often fumed jealousy
    watching robed graduates
    gripping tight their mothers
    knowing surely they felt
    the beat of the womb
    and that every time,
    every drumming hug,
    felt like the beginning
    and how I could
    never return.

    Later, when she was replaced,
    on a train across a deep gorge
    in Colorado, my new one,
    overcome with some simple emotion,
    some acceptance of her new family,
    brought my chest so close to hers
    squeezed so tight my blinking life
    that my glasses broke
    smashed against her collarbones
    as she wept fully
    into the engine’s smoky drones.
    It took me years to realize
    that at the moment
    she broke down
    because she wasn’t
    like I thought,
    a stone,
    but after years of searching
    she had finally found
    a home.

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  16. alan-hanson reblogged this from the-new-library and added:
    Here’s a reminder to appreciate your stepmoms, you teenage shits!
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