By Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon
My daughter, she knows it all,
knows nothing. For her sake
I’ve tried to tame her will.
Her father spurs her to push
back. When I was her age,
I adored my mother, feared
my clever, spiteful father.
My girl flinches
when I raise my hand.
How dare she. Anyone
would think I’m bad.
My husband opens his arms,
tired yet strong, gives her
comfort. Sly, her quiet sobs
set his mind against me.
I am abandoned again.
When she was ten,
her monthlies began;
since then, she’s set
herself to undermine me.
How dare she roll her eyes
and twist her face. She doesn’t
know shit; doesn’t know she’s born.
Her Dad worships her,
I leave him stone cold.
How I miss their love.
Ceinwen lives in Newcastle upon Tyne, UK, and writes short stories and poetry. She has been widely published in web magazines and in print anthologies. She is a Pushcart (2019 & 2020) and Forward Prize (2019) nominee. She believes everyone’s voice counts and is developing practice as a participatory arts facilitator.
