Her Story

This is a poem I wrote for a pastiche assignment of Sandra Cisneros's Her Story.

I was born under an empty star
says my mother and
perhaps this will explain her absence

A lonely daughter
who waited for your return
but instead learned that waiting
empty handed and hopeless
was the habit she'd never break.

It must have been fate
because when the stars aligned
and flickered we both watched
connected from unknown destinations
waiting for a black hole to explain
the distance.

No one wishes to speak about the
woman afraid to be and sought
out the world with hands that were
lonely hunters so many years ago.

Perhaps, it is best to remain shaken
knowing that when she falls into nothing,
she stands alone wringing her hands and
weeping, daring to question this fate.

And sometimes when I look at the sky
I curse the clouds, birds, and all things
heavenely in existence for
the cards we've been dealt.

My mother on one side, palms pressed
against a thick glass window
aching to be touched by love and
myself on the other
head in my hands, laughing.