Every Father is Violent Every Mother Overbearing Knowing That Same Pain Not Extraordinary Violent Fathers Overbearing Mothers Is Growing Up
A poem by Yuri Kageyama
Every Father is Violent
Every Mother is Overbearing
We went through the Same Pain
We hand down that
As Violent Fathers
As Overbearing Mothers
The Pain is Real
Getting Used to
Getting Used to
That Same Pain
That’s Growing Up.
a poem by Yuri Kageyama
Victims of abuse
do not weep or scream, even whimper.
Too scared to speak out.
Tears are seeking sniffles of sympathy.
Pleas assume cuddles of resolution.
Being born into abuse is darkness with no escape. So we stay silent.
I’m sorry, mama,”
something we say.
We drink in all those words
Like the salty tears we do not taste.
Just wait in fear.
Filled with hatred and the blind groping for justice and
the secret tongue-biting vow of revenge.
But we do not ask for pity.
We do not cry.
A Facebook Post Upon Reading a Facebook Post
_ a poem by Yuri Kageyama
I saw your post about not wanting children.
I do feel bad.
But more than that
I feel I understand exactly how you feel as that is how I felt all through my 20s, actually until I had you.
Then I knew or I think I knew that having you was the most wonderful thing that had happened in my life.
I just feel bad you feel the wa
y you do _ not only because we were “bad” parents and didn’t give you a bright happy childhood full with Elmo smiles _ but more because I was exactly that kind of person, like you, who didn’t want children at all.
The world is such a horrible place and what child would want to come into such a horrible place?
And if parents are all imperfectly human, then how could any parent live up to the task?
I am exploring these ideas and more in the writing that I am doing now and always have _ since you were born.
Maybe that is selfish because a child is real with real needs, not like writing which is more unreal than real.
But I am convinced more than ever that you are the best thing that happened in my life.
And it is not anything that you will do or you will become or you will say or feel.
Nothing can change this simple fact.
It is beyond any explanation or any argument or any question.
It is so very unreal.
And so maybe someday you will have that magic of a child.
Somewhere inside of you from where your music is born a child is waiting to be born _ to you.
an ode to Facebook upon its IPO
a Poem by Yuri Kageyama
For moms, Facebook is priceless. How else are we going to find out what our kid away at college is up to? LOL. Pore over his posts, his comments on communities. Send friend requests to his friends, friends of his friends, even moms of his friends. LOL. Some moms have kids who ignore moms’ friend requests, and so they can look only at their public posts. No fun. My son is a musician so all his posts are public so a lot for me to read. Oh, good. He has a gig with another student. Oh, good. He is smiling in a photo he is tagged in. He has linked to a YouTube video of his performance at school. He is out jogging with his roommate. Fun. He has posted a quote by one of his teachers. Maybe he is learning something. Uh-oh. He is angry musicians have a hard time getting paid. He feels he can’t eat shrimp today. Maybe I should send him a check. He deserves to eat shrimp once in a while. Oh, great. He is writing out the score to a Kabuki dance piece, one of my favorites. Maybe he is learning something. He is quoting Ryunosuke Akutagawa. Maybe he is really learning something. But wait. The comment is about suicide. OMG. Is he depressed? Uh-oh. One of his friends at the same music school, who is now my friend, also has a horribly depressing post. Another says she wakes up petrified of her dreams. What’s going on? Was I like this when I was at college? Oh, right. People would be jumping over the gorge every week at Cornell. Oh, no. Maybe he is learning too much. I leave a comment for the friend with the scary dreams that dreams are ways to cope with reality, and she should just tell herself dreams are just dreams. Thank you, friends. They are telling him about teaching positions, to not worry too much about jobs while at school and are giving friendly advice, cheering him up. Maybe he feels better. Oh, good. He is back to posting an analysis about a musician’s sound. Oh, wow. I am so moved I may cry. He is now friends with his former girlfriend, the one who plays the violin, the one I thought would never forgive him, the one he broke up with after an abortion.