The day my mother married
Hers, weeped
Futurity of leaving Cuba, gone
She grieved her only child
All efforts to bring her home, futile
Through the years
And under a fleet of angels
I saw myself
Reflected in her
Superbly waiting for motherhood
Incessant fire, love that burns
Like a tower, in me
My dad would always tell me, repeatedly.
‘You don’t pick the wrong men, they pick you’
This always resonates when finding myself in that sort of situation.
I’m quite imperfect couldn’t keep a marriage, not for lack of trying.
Tried to give my sons the illusion of balance. That didn’t last, it was soul crushing.
My sons are now grown men, and have a clear understanding of my side of the story.
Yes, there are two sides.
A high percentage of women leave – to live – not to be with someone else.
I’ve lived, loved, and raised two men.
Empty nest, feels loud.
Their happiness and relationships, validates all efforts.
Arrows & Metaphors 
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