I dress in stolen darkness, slipping out unwatched, to meet and mix, skin on skin, belly, buttocks to breasts, misinterpreting teenage cravings as eternal love, believing in forever and I am haunted by how much.
Our mothers do not know until the morning of nausea, and I spill the beans.
Later at the doctor we discuss options, as eternity shrinks from years to months.
Our mothers know about the sleepless nights to come. Our grandmothers know and suddenly the shadows of our absent fathers darken the rooms.
Meanwhile, ghosted by my boys, I wait alone. Summer passes into autumn and as I listen to the sound of rain on window panes I grow from girl to woman.
With spring I am released into sleepless nights and part time employments.
Our mothers do not know, but like they once did, I am searching for fathers.
Edvard Munch
Melissa hosts the prosery challenge today at dVerse with a line from Poet Tina Cheng:
“I am haunted by how much our mothers do not know.“
From “Love”
As usual I have tried to split the line, but it was hard. I know the video below is from the boy’s perspective, but this song is an old favorite of mine.
September 9, 2024
Björn Rudbergs writings 
A familiar story through the ages, Björn, and one you’ve told well. The final sentence is hard-hitting.
Indeed… I imagine generations of women having this destiny.
That transition is seamless! You did a great job splitting the line. It does seem like looking for fathers is passed down through generations, though people grow up without fathers for many reasons. This definitely hits home for me. Well done.
Thank you… to some extent many of my generation grew up with absent fathers (they were at work…) so even I can relate a bit.
to familiar a story for so many.
It is…
I agree, that last sentence is so heave to carry as a reader, but I deighted in I dress in stolen darkness
Sombre, yes…but real, too real.
It is a constant story alas… how can that chain be broken?
In the end, there will always be winners and losers. The church has receded, thankfully, but there is no other possible helping hand, not government either. Some just have a bad card thrown at them…
Sorry – typos, heavy, delighted..I do not know how I did not see them.
A common tale, as you noted sometimes for generations. We both used Munch illustrations.
I like the song, too.
Munch is my goto artist as I can almost always find a picture fitting my poem.
You did a fantastic job splitting that line. I almost missed it, it was so well done as is the storytelling.
Thank you…. to me the only way to do something really creative with a poetry line is trying to splitting it.
That first paragraph has such striking images, and the rest of your piece lives up to the beginning.
Thank you … I tried to imagine how it would look with a teenager sneaking out…
This is such a profound writeup Bjorn. I love how you have used the quote. ❤️
Thank you…. somehow it wrote itself.
You chose one of my favorite Springsteen songs and composed a great prose piece that matches, perfectly. And, great way to split the sentence, not an easy task.
Thank you… yes that sone is one I remember.
‘eternity shrinks from years to months’
That’s it, in a nutshell. Thank goodness there are options now. Never perfect, traumatic and guilt-ridden, but better than a life of recriminations.
A very creative take on the prompt, Bjorn.
nicely done! i wanted to split the sentence, but could not figure out how to do it. lovely storytelling.