by Ann Weil
They Say
for my daughter’s 18th birthday
They say time heals all wombs and maybe that’s true but after birthing you, I was scared out of my tits. Motherhood is the invention of necessity, right? So, I became a mother. Overnight. An overnight success. Once I held you in my arms, fear fell away from my mouth along with quite a few other four-letter words. I toppled heels over love in head with you. Together, we learned how to laugh over spoiled milk, that what goes around is often the flu, and it’s not haste but taste that makes a bigger waist. Through thick and thicker, we discovered two birds in the bush are less messy than one who shits in your hand, and that if you’re ever up a creek without a saddle, that’s good, because you won’t need a saddle. So many excellent life lessons! Oh, Darling Girl, it has been the honor of my strife-time to be your Mom. You are my shining car, my Rolodex watch, my Elvis sighting, my moonshot over Miami. Remember, as you oh, the places you will go-go, your mother’s words of wisdom teeth— “No matter what they say, don’t let a smile be your umbrella. You’ll just end up wet.”
Ann Weil is the author of Lifecycle of a Beautiful Woman (Yellow Arrow Publishing, 2023) and Blue Dog Road Trip (Gnashing Teeth Publishing, forthcoming October 2024). Her poetry appears in Pedestal Magazine, DMQ Review, Maudlin House, 3Elements Review, Okay Donkey, SWWIM Every Day, The Shore, and elsewhere.