I had originally planned to post this poem in the November poetry gathering… but then life very much changed and I thought I could banish this poem to the dustbin. But Liz Berry’s words continue to linger (I think you will see exactly why as you read it) and so I am sharing it today.
I leave this poem for you to read and digest as it speaks to you. Its meaning has certainly taken new shape in my days… so Ms. Berry… I hope you realize that your poem has helped me both celebrate and grieve The Republic of Motherhood.
The Republic of Motherhood
by Liz Berry
I crossed the border into the Republic of Motherhood
and found it a queendom, a wild queendom.
I handed over my clothes and took its uniform,
its dressing gown and undergarments, a cardigan
soft as a creature, smelling of birth and milk,
and I lay down in Motherhood’s bed, the bed I had made
but could not sleep in, for I was called at once to work
in the factory of Motherhood. The owl shift,
the graveyard shift. Feeding cleaning loving feeding.
I walked home, heartsore, through pale streets,
the coins of Motherhood singing in my pockets.
Then I soaked my spindled bones
in the chill municipal baths of Motherhood,
watching strands of my hair float from my fingers.
Each day I pushed my pram through freeze and blossom
down the wide boulevards of Motherhood
where poplars bent their branches to stroke my brow.
I stood with my sisters in the queues of Motherhood –
the weighing clinic, the supermarket – waiting
for its bureaucracies to open their doors.
As required, I stood beneath the flag of Motherhood
and opened my mouth although I did not know the anthem.
When darkness fell I pushed my pram home again,
by lamp-light wrote urgent letters of complaint
to the Department of Motherhood but received no response.
I grew sick and was healed in the hospitals of Motherhood
with their long-closed isolation wards
and narrow beds watched over by a fat moon.
The doctors were slender and efficient
and when I was well they gave me my pram again
so I could stare at the daffodils in the parks of Motherhood
while winds pierced my breasts like silver arrows.
In snowfall, I haunted Motherhood’s cemeteries,
the sweet fallen beneath my feet –
Our Lady of the Birth Trauma, Our Lady of Psychosis.
I wanted to speak to them, tell them I understood,
but the words came out scrambled, so I knelt instead
and prayed in the chapel of Motherhood, prayed
for that whole wild fucking queendom,
its sorrow, its unbearable skinless beauty,
and all the souls that were in it. I prayed and prayed
until my voice was a night cry,
sunlight pixellating my face like a kaleidoscope.
“The Republic of Motherhood” from The Republic of Motherhood. Copyright © 2018 by Liz Berry.
If you want to know more about Ms. Berry, you can find some information here. And, if you want to listen to Liz read this poem to you (and I highly recommend that you do… you will find it here.)
I want to thank Bonny for gathering us all together to share a poem today.
See you all back here on Monday.
Wow, that is quite a poem, Kat! This is one I’m going to have to read and re-read, but I think it’s the only poem I’ve read that expresses the joy and concomitant grief around motherhood. It is a “whole wild fucking queendom” and as is so often the case, it is best expressed in poetry. Thanks so much for sharing.
Wow! What a poem Kat. Like Bonny, I will be re-reading this a number of times. Even though my baby is now 36 (gasp! how did that happen?), I am still in the realm of Motherhood Queendom at times.
Now THAT is a powerful poem, Kat. Like Bonny, the “whole wild fucking queendom” line just really strikes a chord. Thank you for sharing this bittersweet and honest poem, and especially as you experience your own fresh (and raw) grief. Much love to you.
Wow. I really don’t have any words because I’m so blown away!
This poem packs a punch. Poetry can tell a big story with not so many words. Sending love to you.
What an amzing poem I loved it.
Love the poem and the way you feel a part of something and how women are connected. Beautiful