My mother, angry over a childhood that began in memories so
early she could not recall, raged against my sister and me, left
me alone with a stepfather who had his way with me, whose body
raged against my own, whose body raged. I saw myself in her reflection,
knew myself only as her daughter. Of course, I could not exist
without her, could not be whole without her anger visiting
itself upon my body. She gave me over to him, sacrificed me
for her own comfort and support. I was the sacrificial lamb at her alter.


2 thoughts on “My Mother
  1. Wow, so much meaning and living are packed into so few words.

  2. Thank you so much!

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