Maybe it will happen during a pandemic when, resources exhausted, you lock yourself in the bathroom as your children squall. Look, you never imagined you’d be a mother, projected disdain on those duties. Yet, here you are: braced on a toilet, sequestered. Be gentle. The most beautiful part will be morning before the children besiege you. Before they wake, it’s quiet enough to hear histories. Remember when your own mother shut your fingers in the car door. Remember when she tipped the canoe, and you sank beneath cold water. Remember the panic. Remember how you resented her busy life, full even in your absence. The most beautiful part is that you have forgotten all of this in order to remember how these slips were inconsequential and your mother was everything. Consider that this poem is about a mother who locked herself in a bathroom once, to escape your shrills, but whose voice this is, reminding you the most beautiful part is you never once questioned her love, as solid as the steel she used to lock you out.
Tara Iacobucci is a poet and mother of three living in the Boston area and teaches English at Canton High School. She self-published a young adult fiction novel titled The Trouble with Pretty, and her poetry and prose have appeared in Plymouth State University’s Comp Journal and Centripetal.