In the shadow of the mother, by Lorraine Gibson
she tried to know herself. She couldn’t
take her face off long enough to know
just what was what, without
a perpetual slick of raspberry
lip-stick and sooty-vamp mascara.
Her Mother told her:
Pale blonde lashes
don’t attract the boys
you know.
Apparently, just a dab of ivory foundation
would mask her adolescent skin
(An absolute necessity).
Now, isn’t that much better. And
darling, did you know
that if you wear just little heels
your legs will look much longer?
Her Mother’s magazines
insisted women needed alteration:
Sit up straight, back-comb your hair
it looks much thicker that way.
Adherence to these social norms conferred
potential to be worthy of being draped
like Christmas tinsel
on the arm of someone with a penis.
At sixteen years of age Mother saw her
as a rival in a lifetime competition
she had no wish to enter.
Mother hushed her own long-curdled dreams
passed on her own hereditary gift of
not quite good enough.
Enough! At 40 years of age
she rejected history’s poisoned apples and
lifting up her fresh scrubbed face
she turned towards true north and the light
in all young women.
* * * * *
Lorraine Gibson is a Scottish-Australian writer and painter who began writing poetry when she retired from her work as a Cultural Anthropologist. Her poetry is published in journals, magazines and anthologies including: Meniscus Literary Journal, Backstory, The Galway Review, Eureka Street, Booranga fourW, Poetry for the Planet, Live Encounters Hecate, Lothlorien, WordCity and Burrow. Her book: We Don’t Do Dots: Art and Culture in Wilcannia New South Wales, is published by Sean Kingston Press: United Kingdom.
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