OUR MOTHERS
They want us to appreciate the squeeze they felt.
To forgive them their choices, honor feeble intent
in the men they married, our fathers.
They drag us out to dinner on dead men's birthdays
milking into wineglasses our compulsion to forgive
the women who gave us our eggs, now unused forever --
Even as our would-be daughters blame us for not
finishing our revolution, every step we took wrong.
We have no absolution from those who came after.
They demand our sisterhood as well, and mock how
we turn to each other, old now, but still in love
with the glimpses we uncovered of female spirit
unchained.
© Maggie Jochild -- written 2:31 p.m., 23 November 2011
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