Enthrall

“The mother is the first world of the child and the last world of the adult.” ~ C.G. Jung

She’d threaten in her old rages:
Do you want me to send you back
to where you’re really from?

Confused, still only a child, how could
I know she meant another’s womb?
She’d threaten in her old rages:

not just me then, but her sister who bore
me; their secret shame a body opened,
bedded where it wasn’t really from.

Oh bitter years oppressed by grieving—
Imagine their long, strangled braid.
She’d threaten in her old rages

to leave, or banish us: repeated
cries demanding Go away! Or go
back to where you’re really from!

The only idol left now in her kingdom,
no one comes to call even if she’d beg
or threaten, just like in her old rages.
Is this really where I’m from?

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