Scars of My Mothers

A Poem About Maternal Heritage

My mother has scars
and I have scars,
but they were not from the same condition.

Hers are from birthing me,
While mine are from mothering her.

I call her Wallflower—
not because she wasn’t attractive
for she was anything but plain,
but because she was afraid of everything
from spiders to germs to catastrophes.

As her firstborn daughter,
I grew up cringing in the shadows
provided by worst-case-scenario mom
while she tried to keep me inside
and sheltered from the outside
I saw a world full of wonders to be explored.

My Mother, Wallflower, had scars
and her mother had scars,
but they were not from the same condition.

Cat Whisperer craved love—
the bond between mother and daughter
but in her desperation for affection
she smothered Wallflower away.

Thus Cat Whisperer
groomed all manner of cats, raccoons, and skunks
with nary a bite, nor a spray,
but she couldn’t tame her own daughter.

My grandmother told me of starry nights with her father
of Hawaii before it was a state
and always about cats she’d known,
but she never spoke about her mother.

My Grandmother, Cat Whisperer, had scars
and her mother had scars
but they were not from the same condition.

Wandering Pearl, always desiring adventure
invited Cat Whisperer
to share a seance
but choosing the path less traveled,
Cat Whisperer walked two miles
in the opposite direction—
an act of defiance
that Wandering Pearl would never forgive.

Cat Whisperer lost her mother’s smile that day
and never got over the ache of wanting her mother’s love
yet knowing it was no longer there.

My Great Grandmother, Wandering Pearl, had scars
and her mother had scars
but they were not from the same condition.

Firecracker came on a boat
at four years old, in 1866
wearing a thick German accent
already struggling to fit in

Craving romance and adventure
Wandering Pearl wanted time
that her mother couldn’t give

While Firecracker was working hard
to make a stable home for her daughter.
she discovered that Wandering Pearl
refusing to toe the line
had run away to elope.

I can’t blame my mothers for their traumas and reactions
Because I’m at least a little bit like each of them.

I too, have fought hard to find
a place to belong
much like Firecracker

I too, have been unsatisfied
and turned to adventure-seeking
much like Wandering Pearl

I too, have held people within my grasp
only to lose them in passing
much like Cat Whisperer

I too, am afraid
of many things too big to name
much like Wallflower

But I am not Wall Flower
hiding away from the world
No, I have chosen to bare my soul
by writing poetry and books

I am not Cat Whisperer
Who drove people beyond her grasp
No, I realize love has come, and will come
in many ways—sometimes without even trying.

I am not Wandering Pearl
who was flighty and couldn’t stick with anyone for long
No, I am loyal ‘til death.

I am not Firecracker
whose temper destroyed relationships
No, I’m always more sad than mad.

I am Lotus Seeker—
breaking the traditions
of my foremothers

I know women are not defined
by their apple pie or their frizzy curls,
nor by their bodies, or the men they have loved
or even their spiritual pride,
but by the ways they’ve learned to thrive
by pulling themselves out of the mud like a lotus.

I am Lotus seeker
Finding belonging like Firecracker,
Seeking adventure like Wandering Pearl,
Emoting empathy like Cat Whisperer
Wearing a cheerful face like Wallflower

I am Lotus seeker
ever reaching for my messy family,
always mourning what has passed,
always hoping for better times to come,
and still, a little bit afraid like Wallflower.

My mother has scars, and I have scars—
but they are not from the same condition.

-Cherilyn Christen Clough

© 2023 Cherilyn Christen Clough All rights reserved.