THE PARENT’S LAST CUDDLE -Memoir

 

THE PARENT’S LAST CUDDLE -Memoir 

Holding you, I remember not, when was the last time, your hand in mine, your arms around my neck.

I lived for these moments yet neglected that they would end.

From the morning welcome to the nightly tuck, this is just what we did.

When did it stop?

When was the last cuddle, you wrapped in my arms and everything in life on pause?

Had my thoughts been cluttered, looking to end it, seeking something else while you placed your trust in me?

I had put you to bed a million times, an unthought task, just routine.

And now I stand at your closed door. I am not even welcome to say goodnight.

Pain grips my heart. We had our last cuddle, our last moment as a mother and child where nothing else in the universe mattered to you?

And I missed it; the final cuddle.

I didn’t realize it was the last time you would snuggle in my arms.

The last time to inhale your scent.

Would I have released you if I had known you’d never cuddle again?

Just us, with your faith in me, your love in me.

I didn’t know it was the last time.

And now your door is closed.

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The Parent's Last Cuddle

by Stephanie Daich

WET NURSE -Flash Fiction

  WET NURSE

If you had lived in another time, say a hundred, even a thousand years ago, somewhere in Britain or even Egypt, and you were not a member of the chosen people, stuck in a race, a system where there was no way to rise out of, you might have found the deprivation of living unbearable. Everything you did, loved, kicked to the ashes. Those who felt superior to you, even the children, would look at you with scorn if they looked at you at all. They would say amongst themselves, is this a human at all? I doubt it.

Georgiana lived such a life, where all was taken from her, but nothing given back, where she sacrificed the good of her children for that of her master, and such a word is that, master, someone taking dominion over her every breath.

Georgiana thought, for once, that providence had smiled upon her as she held her newborn baby in her arms, the new baby suckling at her breasts. All the persecutions, the beatings, and the sacrifices were all worth it to be the mother of the sweet baby. Georgiana didn’t understand why her master let her rest in her bed for two weeks following the miracle, but she relished every second with her baby.

For now, you will no longer work, they told her. Georgiana could scare breath, yet they realize their mistake. Some part of her knew that the moment would pass, that things would change, but she tried not to think of it as her son took loud, pleasurable gulps of Georgiana’s pure milk of life.

But then, Master gave birth, and Junior was brought to Georgiana’s breasts. You will no longer feed your child from your breasts. There must always be an ample supply of milk for Junior. A sentence passed upon Georgiana, almost as damning as being thrown in the dungeon. And from that point on, Georgiana’s son wailed in hunger; his belly used to rich, thick cream, now consigned to drink water with bread soaked in it. Whenever Georgiana could steal a small dribble of pig’s milk, she brought it to her son’s lip. Oh, how her breasts ached for her child, how they swollen and engorged to his cries. But to be caught nursing him would be the instant sale of her son. She knew this, for they threatened her about it daily.

I want to say that things worked out well for Georgiana’s baby, that she was able to stow him away in a basket, send him down the river, and eventually be called to nurse him. But I can’t.

In other times, in other places, life moves slowly and hard, weighing down those forced into slavery. The unfortunates bury their will, their very sense of being human.

So, Mama, if you have the fortune to raise your baby, do so with gratitude and joy. Hold that infant tight as it suckles your breast. Sing them songs and tell your stories, for you have what millions of others have been denied: the privilege and freedom of being their mom.

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Wet Nurse

by Stephanie Daich

LET YOURSELF FREE -Poetry

LET YOURSELF FREE

This is the pillar which you build your life upon.
You fight to show the world it’s rosy and grand
You try to hide your struggles
And when you fall and land, you keep your image rosy and grand.

These are the people you spend your time with.
You adopt their mannerisms and ways, often becoming someone new.
You stuff yourself deep within,
Hiding yourself true, often becoming someone new.

These are the lies you feed yourself and others,
Pretending and deceiving, veiling your heart,
Constantly fighting with your true self,
Until you feel you’ll rip apart, veiling your heart.

Scrape off all the stucco and stains you have accumulated.
Throw away the foolish trends that bind you; let yourself free.
Stop hiding and suppressing who you are.
Take a breath and let yourself be; let yourself free.

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Let Yourself Free

by Stephanie Daich

RETURN TO YOURSELF -Poetry

  RETURN TO YOURSELF

 

Reenter your imagination with a child-like hunger,

And allow it to wash over you.

Surrender your rigid schedules

And destroy your oppressive walls.

Once you traveled this realm freely,

Once you let it in.

 

When did you shut it out,

Close your doors to its possibility?

Kick out your mind’s curator,

The one who has boxed up all your innocence,

And filed it deep into the vaults of the forgotten,

Unobtainable memory. Rehire the organizer of

Your mind from yesteryears.

 

Allow curiosity and wonderment to be your

Constant companion, for it swelled in you once,

And it can regain its place in you.

Why do you have to rush about,

Too busy to even notice the small flower

Growing out of the cracked asphalt?

Have you taken the time to lie on your back

And gaze up at the clouds, noticing Heaven’s palette?

When did you really listen to the magic of music

And allow it to paint pictures of wonderment in your mind?

 

Return to yourself,

The one who felt intrigued by a

Stranger and made an instant friend.

Open your heart to adventure and spontaneity,

For that is the spice to life, the icing on the

Cake that you always took time to taste.

Today is the day! The minute is now.

Toss out all your reserves

And allow imagination and curiosity

Their rightful place in your soul!

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Return to Yourself

by Stephanie Daich

NOTEBOOK -Poetry

  NOTEBOOK

Crafted lines in the tattered book.

Pen to paper, in my nature nook.

Conduit open.

Inspiration abound.

Meditation open to sound

Senses feeling the power surge.

Brush strokes and ink, ideas emerge.

Bloch of paint.

Charcoal smear.

Emotions expressed, tender and dear.

Imagination forever encaptured.

Heart and soul, eternally enraptured.

Feelings raw.

Talent shook.

The power of a blank notebook.

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The Notebook

by Stephanie Daich

THE HOME HAS MOVED ON- Poetry

 THE HOME HAS MOVED ON

 

You gave everything to it.

Time.

Love.

Resources.

Your best memories are in those walls

(and even some of your worst).

You grew there.

You cried there.

Loved ones surrounded you on the inside.

And at times, you felt all alone.

Yet, it knew you more intimately than your closest friends.

It saw you at your greatest.

It witnessed parts of you that you wish no one to see.

 

But now, the home has moved on.

 

It was sold without your consent.

A mother, father, or lover wishing to move on,

Though, you have not moved on.

It was your home.

And in your heart, it always will be.

But when you drive by it, it has changed.

It doesn’t acknowledge you.

 

The home has moved on.

 

In its walls, another family lives.

It has given its whole self to them.

They run through its halls.

They have destroyed your loving hand,

and put their flare to it.

 

And the home has moved on.

 

But you have not.

How you ach to go inside.

How you want to feel its flooring beneath your feet.

You know its intimate secrets as well.

The place where the floor creeks.

The windows that don’t latch properly.

You knew it with its hideous wallpaper

(Thankfully, now hidden from the world).

You knew it when its plumbing failed

(how embarrassing for it).

You knew every inch of it,

Yet the home has moved on.

But you loved it.

You still do.

You desperately want to go inside,

To smell it, to feel it, to see it.

 

But the home has moved on.

 

Yet, you can never move on.

It is the essence of you,

The one sure thing.

It was your foundation,

Though you can never return.

If only it would smile at you as you drove by,

Invite you in, where you can exchange memories.

But sadly,

Heartbreakingly,

Devastatingly,

 

The home has moved on.

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The Home Has Moved On

by Stephanie Daich

NO MOTHER -Poetry

 

 NO MOTHER

 

No mother

Will return to her former self.

She is bits of who she was

But entirely new

Refined by the nights she sacrifices

Cultivated by putting others first

Polished yet dulled by her service.

No mother

Is free like she used to be

Giving her will to others

Winning and losing

But never whole.

Scarred by unmet dreams.

Blasted by daily guilt.

Chained by obligations.

No mother

Is the same.

Nor would she ever change this.

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No Mother

by Stephanie Daich

THE WORLD NEEDS GOD MORE THAN EVER -Poetry

  THE WORLD NEEDS GOD MORE THAN EVER

 

Spring forth, all the good, spill out of me.

            Don’t get beguiled by the clever.

Share my light so others can see.

            The world needs God more than ever.

 

Stand tall, all the strength, do not flee.

            Stay strong, in the good endeavor.

Give my time, bend my knee.

            The world needs God more than ever.

 

Hold tight, all the love that I might see.

            Stay close to God forever.

Atone for my sins, God sets me free.

            The world needs God more than ever.

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The World Needs God More Than Ever

by Stephanie Daich