Poetry By Juliette van der Molen

 
 
Mother, May I?
 
Mother, may i
ask you why
it was so different
to be first born?
did i alter you
to this
stretched
&
unreal smile
or were you always
unhappy
&
birthed me
that way?
 
Mother, may i
go back in time
and do things
different, maybe
smaller
&
less vocal,
a whisper that
would say
‘yes please’
&
‘no thank you’
to save
tender insides
where my cheeks
bleed against teeth?
 
Mother, may i
explain to you
how i learned things
were my fault,
that i should know better,
that pain was a
consequence
&
punishment
so deserved?
did you know that
when he
hit me
&
his mouth opened
your voice
shrilled against
my enamel—
look what you
made me do!
 
Mother, may i
distance myself
across state lines
&
oceans where
you can cross
only occasionally
to remind me
of how things
were
&
weren’t,
this kaleidoscope
of jammed memories
that must be real,
because you say so.
 
Mother, may i
remind you that
i didn’t choose to be
your daughter
&
your albatross,
nor did i want to
be noticed so much
by your
hands
&
wooden spoons.
 
Mother, may i
have some
peace
&
quiet,
the kind that you always
yelled
&
begged for,
even when i tried to be
so small.
 
 


Shoe Box Grave

trusted cradle hands
meant for tender heads
and lullaby sleeps,
meant to usher this
tabula rasa innocence
into the waiting arms
of the man in the moon--
digs a shoe box grave,
six feet deep.
 
she rests,
a bird with wings
folded inward,
feathers battered
by a wind too strong
that pushed her from
the nest, where she
should have been,
never was
(but should have been)
safe.
 
curled inside with less
care than a pair
of Jimmy Choo boots,
that once saw this
cardboard home,
she is skin and bones
without breath—
just blue lips
and a cry stilled,
colic, they said.
 
under the tree,
nestled near roots
in the backyard
of the house they sold
with the warm brown sugar
smell of chocolate chips
melted in an oven,
9 minutes,
not 9 months,
but devoured just as quickly.
 
took the first offer,
picked each room clean,
no need for baby shoes
she can’t outgrow,
dropped in a box
marked salvation
for another baby,
more fortunate maybe,
with a mother less
likely to break.

​

Juliette van der Molen is a writer and poet living in the Greater NYC area. Her work has also appeared or is forthcoming in Rose Quartz Journal, Burning House Press, Memoir Mixtapes, Collective Unrest and You Are Not Your Rape (anthology).  You can find more of her writing at Medium and connect with her on Twitter @j_vandermolen. Her debut chapbook, Death Library: The Exquisite Corpse Collection, was published in August 2018 by Moonchild Magazine.