In my mother's house I lean against the wall
and wonder which is holding which upright.
Without her children's need, her world would fall.
Maternal burdens soon become too light.
Or is it I that helplessly remains
to curse the kitchen that cannot be mine,
the frightened child that constantly complains
but clings ferociously as if a vine?
Dependence is the root between the two.
The new bud cannot bloom until it's free.
Time must finally sever the stem clear through.
God's flowers are meant to blossom separately.
I walk away unsteadily, on my own.
The wall still stands just fine now, all alone.


by Lisa (Teel) Rodriguez
1984