Woman Undone

A sonnet for: singing daughters and listening mothers.

Woman Undone
by Kristine Neeley

She stands in the shower and sings the same
songs; the soundtrack to my hardest years that
for her, sway gently with heartache, more tame
but no less painful. The shape of it flat,

if you listen hard. Lift your voice louder
my dear, and sing for us both until they
have no recourse but to know your power.
Then in the slow form of an old hymn, pray

words of revelation, sung salvation,
new ways to be human. While you become,
I am woman undone: a conflation
of more half notes than can even be sung.

These quiet years, I attend to her voice;
in awe, as if there were ever a choice.

Photo by Diana Saputra on Unsplash

If I’m honest, this Day 26 prompted poem from my National Poetry Writing Month adventures in April, is as much about being a mother as it is about being a daughter. And that’s what I’m still learning, it seems, how closely those two parts of my life live in tension as I walk alongside our children becoming.

It’s a tenderness unlike any I’ve known, but I’d never trade it for anything.

I didn’t originally publish this widely — only shared it as a link in my last AirMail. Nor, did I record it, my voice still scratchy with the itch and tickle of spring’s bloom. I hope you’ll forgive me for the lack of polish in my recording, and also for republishing and sending it to your inbox today.

It was the nudge that wouldn’t quit, so I submitted.

This one’s for the mothers, the daughters, and all of us finding our voice.

Thank you for reading,