Enough

This piece was recently published by Welter, the University of Baltimore's English department literary magazine. A publication party was held on May 13 where authors were invited to celebrate by participating in a public reading. The reading was held on the 5th floor of the Student Activities Center in a room with a glass wall that provided a fabulous view of downtown Baltimore. I went and had a great time.

The inspiration for this piece came from a list poem that I wrote several years ago about all the things to feel guilty for. The 'voices' are from my past--all women interestingly enough--but some are voices from our culture. I'll let you decide which are which.

Being born a little white girl who grew up in the South, a descendant of slave owners and I don’t hate them for it but maybe I should, and having a black maid who had nine children and lived in a house without running water even though my grandmother paid the bills for us and I didn’t understand until long after we left, being angry that I have to explain my history, and just be glad you were born into this family and not some other. Not cleaning my room and your mama and daddy paid good money for this house. Not cleaning my plate even though children in Africa are starving, use your bread not your fingers. Dressing well, not dressing well enough, and do you want the neighbors to see you like that. Not wearing clean underwear although I never once woke up in the hospital like they said I would, not wearing any underwear, not wearing anything, throwing away good food, throwing away bad food that was good but went bad before I could eat it, Mabel, Mabel, elbows off the table. Not saying no clearly and often enough, when they were young, and not saying no, now and you can’t live their lives for them. Saying yes when I should have said no, saying yes when I really meant no, not feeling sorry that I said yes, and I love you too, baby. Not seeing the dentist often enough, not flossing enough, not exercising enough, not having regular pap smears, having a nice car, reading trash, wasting time and if you don’t have anything better to do there’s work waiting in the kitchen. Hanging out, doing nothing, trying to do everything, going too fast, not going fast enough, sleeping in, not sleeping enough and you have to take better care of yourself you know. Being married, being able to have children, not having one more, wondering why they don’t have any and finding out that they can’t. Being divorced and what happened and who are you to ask me. Being angry, speaking up and I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. Talking back and we’ll not have any back talk in this house young lady. Not speaking out, not saying anything, not doing anything about it and you should be more assertive. Not voting, voting when I wasn’t sure, pretending I was sure, pretending to be someone else and you can be anything in this world that you want to be. Losing my temper when they were little, and dumb me for not having child locks on the cabinets and not being consistent, laughing when they did something wrong because it was so funny even though they got mixed messages and I didn’t know until later, but then it was too late. Being depressed when they were young and they don’t remember, or say they don’t but I do. Pretending to be asleep when I didn’t want to, not answering the phone when I knew it was him, spending too much and do you think money grows on trees. Spending too much time, spending too much time worrying, spending too much time worrying about him and how many tears are you going to shed over that guy. Not saving, not saving enough, not starting my IRAs soon enough, not having enough, not being enough, being too much, too spiritual, too sensitive, too passionate, too emotional, having too much good and still wanting more, wanting everything and nobody gets everything they want. Everything I should have done but didn’t, every wrong choice I made, even the ones I thought were right at the time, every evil thought, every bad word to pass my lips, every time I chose me instead of someone else, crying myself to sleep, not being able to cry, slamming the door, punching the wall, slapping his face, scaring the children, swearing at God, enough already, enough and what’s the matter with you, were you raised in a barn?