Photo of the radiant Anique Duc
I Have My Mother's Face by Sharon Smith
I have my Mother’s face…
There it is, in the mirror, staring back at me.
The same lines by the corners of my mouth…
The same receding, fading brown eyes…
The same “neck-waddle.”
The same wrinkles.
The same grey hairs.
I have my Mother’s face.
Once I vowed I would never look like her:
A regimen of face creams, hair dyes,
buffers, scrubbers—Exfoliate it away!
Poisoning my body to deny my DNA.
Fighting against Time to be “young”
when what did Youth ever do for me?
What did I learn during those years?
But to be a Puppet of the Patriarchy;
bearing a burden of perfection
upon my shoulders
too heavy for me to carry and
too hard for me to support.
What did I get from it?
Not the Wisdom I now have.
Not the Grace or Compassionate Understanding.
Not the Wild Woman fire that burns in my soul,
born of years of Struggle and Pain
to discover Who I Am.
I have my Mother’s face.
Her eyes look back at me, and I weep.
Not tears of sorrow for the face I now see,
but tears of remorse that I once despised
this beautiful face; once thought it ugly,
a thing to be ashamed of, because
I had bought into the Patriarchal Lie.
I have my Mother’s face.
Societal “Norms of Beauty” be damned!
Restricted, conflicted Womanity
noosed about the neck and dragged along
for how many centuries,
sculpting, molding our bodies to be
“Acceptable” and “Worthy of Love.”
This face I ran from…
This face is ME!
I have my Mother’s face.
The face of the Crone,
The Grandmother,
The Elder Woman,
The Wise Woman,
The Matriarch.
The Wild Woman,
The Goddess!
I have my Mother’s face.
It is mine.
I have inherited it.
I have earned it.
And, by the Goddess,
I shall wear it proudly!
And I shall honor it for all of
the days left to me.
I have my Mother’s face.
She was a Goddess, you see…
And so am I.
Photo and poem from our anthology, Willendorf's Legacy
Comments