From the very first day
You were with child.
But you never let on
After all it was
An embarrassment, a shame
A time for family to shun and exile you.
For their own good, of course.
Later you showed a penchant for pregnancy.
Was it because the first was taken from you?
That your wishes, your considerations
Were never the ones of those who decided.
Their public humiliation so great
They’d never raise their heads
Within their small and sheltered community.
So child was not spoken of again
You suffered in silence with only me to blame
As you didn’t consider the sin of the guilty.
I served as a convenient whipping post
‘If only I’d had said something,’ you said
‘But why?’ I asked, ‘the child was not mine.’
To make up for this indiscretion
You worked passionately at pregnancy
Six more followed as you basked in the glow
Proudly showed your bump
Pretended it was my fault
When inside I know it made you whole.
You lauded it over me and anyone
Who challenged you, said it was your right
To have as many babies as you could,
Even when your body began to fail you
And I removed my ability to contribute.
You sat triumph on a mothers throne
Looking down on their tiny feet
Not so interested once they were here.
Rather you swanned victoriously
Conning every one who’d listen.
You fooled only one in the end.
Your throne is dusty and crusty
A lonely old woman
Atop a lonely old hill.