A Job and A Title

One morning I was given a job. It came with a title.

I knew it was going to be a demanding one. I had read and been told so much about how to do the job. Watched others. None of it prepared me for it. Because in spite of all the advice, I learned the job on the fly. There were far too many days when I had no idea what I was doing, even less of what I was going to do next.

Not going to lie, there were days where I know I messed up royally. And while even now, after holding this position for decades, I still sometimes question my abilities for this job. I do the job anyway. Most days I think to myself, I’ve done my best, I continue to do my best and it’s not a bad job at all.

One morning I was given a job. It came with a title.

And unlike marriage, it’s a job and a role that not even death can part.

The job: parent. The title: Mother.

Over recent years I am, or have been, the emotional parent of sorts to several, not even close to being called children, a few of whom who refer to me in matriarchal terms.

I am the biological mother of two.

But only one can be my first.

One morning I was given a job. It came with a title.

No, that’s not accurate. I wasn’t given a job and a title.

One morning, a bundle was placed in my arms, and I was honored with the job and title for the very first time.

Sometimes I swear that morning was just yesterday, a week ago at the most.

Happy 40th Birthday, my first sun.

Day 3 of 31 – Come see how the rest of us are slicing it up today!

15th Annual Slice of Life Writing Challenge
Two Writing Teachers

She Tells Him

Standing there by the old fence
She sure is a pretty sight
He forgot just how her eyes do shine
Under the bright sun light
He ain’t seen her in over month
Truth be told not since that night
And he knows the call bringing him here
Can’t be for something right

She tells him the baby is yours
And he knows she ain’t lying
Inside her a life slowly grows
But inside him he’s slowly dying
Being a dad at seventeen
Wasn’t part of his plan
A baby makes him a father
But it don’t make him a man

She leans against the old fence
Not enjoying the cooling breeze
The silence between them is deafening
It’s not meant for times like these
She remembers how he held her close that night
How he made her weak in the knees
Not this distance she feels now standing next to him
Like she’s got some kind of disease

She tells him the baby is yours
And he knows she ain’t lying
She should be happy about this life that grows
But she’s on the verge of crying
Being a mom at sixteen
Wasn’t part of her plan
A baby makes her a mother
But it don’t make her a woman

He’s thinking how two together
Can sometimes add another one
She’s thinking she can’t raise herself
Let alone a daughter or a son
Both want to stand their own ground
Both of them want to run
And neither wants to dare to think
What the other thinks should be done

If he offers his hand would she be his wife
And somehow together maybe make a life
Or let it be something that they just let go
The distant dreams only the two of them will know
She tells him the baby is yours
And he knows she ain’t lying
No matter what they decide
Its knot that’s never untying

Having a child in their teens
Wasn’t part of their plan
A baby makes them parents
But she’s a long way from a woman,
And he’s a long way from a man

dVerse Poets Pub | Open Link Night #291

Today Mish tends the bar for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets where there are no prompts. Post the poem you want.

National Poetry Month Day 29 in a narrative mood.