Human sponges mothers soak up hurts
Filling their innner space
With family tensions fears
Wounded egos to be nursed
Within an emotional embrace
Saturated bursting into tears
Frayed nerves overwrought
Tolerance stretched and thinned
Striving to be fair but caught
'Tween the finely tuned and thick skinned
A sponge without it's watery soul
Shrivels and grows hard
No longer functional or whole;
Mothers go on absorbing
It's the nature of their role.
From Ring of Voices edited by Anne Lambert ISBN 0 948154 91 8 1996 page 55
Thursday, 25 October 2007
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