black white
shade light
hidden seen
grey between
 
mother daughter
earth water
birthing born
tearing torn
 
spoken heard
music words
mirror me
try see
 
daughter mother
same other
clothed dressed
pulled pressed
 
habit masque
whites blacks
then now
grow allow

© 2019 – Laurel Archer

Do you have trouble when you stand in front of a bank of cards at the store trying to find a card for your mom for Mother’s Day? My mom loved cards and chose hers carefully, for the words. I knew every card I gave her was read with the same care. So I was careful and then I complicated the process by wanting to be truthful – meaning, I wanted the sentiment of the card to be my sentiment too. But those cards! I never could find one that said it right. But I did send them, every year. I know your question. Why didn’t you make and write your own? And the answer to that is, I didn’t think I could say it all.

This is my first mother’s day without my mom; there is no phone call to make tomorrow; there is no card to send. Now I want to say a little more.

Once, when I was little my mom sewed us a set of matching dresses. The one I remember best had a small black and white triangle pattern. I who didn’t like dresses even then, was secretly thrilled to be dressed in matching clothes with my mom. That was the memory behind the poem above. And the sketch above grew beside the poem draft. It tries (as does the poem) to celebrate identification or sameness while also giving voice to individuality or difference.

The one sentiment I could never truthfully say about my Mom, was that she was my best friend. I’m not even sure why this comparison seems to be the pinnacle of mother/daughter relationships. Anybody can be a friend, while only one person can be your mother. A mother-daughter relationship forms a unique shape because it is made by two unique people. I strive to honour the uniqueness of our realtionship.

The shape of our relationship was complex. It was a conversation within a conversation – dynamic and rich but could be frustrating. It was two strong women learning how to let each other be strong women. We were separated by not just one generation, but by two and all the misunderstanding that can bring. It still forms and shapes me; each year I learn a little bit more about my mom, because I learn a little more about me. I expect this to continue until I too pass from this earth.

Until then, my daughter and I work out the same dynamic, forming and shaping each other into another unique and exquisitely beautiful shape entirely our own.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Chanel Nº 5

You are gone
from this earth
but an aroma lingers,
a perfume that captures
my senses.  I look up expecting
to find you, like I did
as a child searching
the church foyer
for the scent of Chanel Nº 5.
 
A memory expands
of you, younger than I am now,
dressed fancy with a matching purse,
face on, hair teased out.
You were happy to be going out
(you were always happier on the go).

I loved the dressed up you,
all perfume and hairspray
and the aroma that lingered
after you were gone.

© 2019 – Laurel Archer

Photo credits: Laurel Archer: Featured photo – poem draft; Hands, mine and Emma’s; white flowers on black rock; my mom’s hand holding a Forget Me Not; my mom’s last bottle of Chanel; Together at Butchart Gardens.