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