47 Mersadie Pittsenbarger – My Mom is Not a Dove
Mersadie Pittsenbarger is a graduating senior for the spring of 2024 majoring in Communications with a minor in Creative Writing. The poem provided was written for Writing Poetry W 303 in the fall of 2023. Professor Brian Brodeur notes, “Sadie Pittsenbarger writes poems that seethe with wild intelligence and an astonishingly fresh imagination that enliven each object, person, place, and idea she considers.”
My Mom is Not a Dove
“I saw your mom today,” family members will announce.
It feels as if I have gone through this recital hundreds of times,
Yet I still can’t get the bitter pit in my stomach to sweeten,
Or my exhaustion on the topic to lighten.
Despite my lack of enthusiasm or uneasy expression,
I still can’t tell them my mom is not a dove.
“She was flying over the feeders, looking for you.”
Funny how quick it is that she gets replaced,
With a bird no less.
As if that is supposed to make her death easier to digest.
Like I’m supposed to pretend she didn’t leave me,
And make do with her new feathered appearance.
Still, I hold strong to the fact that my mom is not a dove.
“Come look out the window, your mom is here.”
No, she is not. She died years ago.
She is at the cemetery, no more than a skeleton in a cold, dirty grave.
She cannot talk, she cannot sing, and she most definitely cannot fly.
“I don’t need to look at her.” Is always my sour reply.
Because why would I want to look at some bird,
Some random dove that everyone is pretending is my mother.
Maybe I’m just as bad, if not bad than worse.
My grandma gets upset at times,
Wondering how she can continue on in the world without her daughter.
And I look for the nearest dove and point to it,
But I never refer to it as my mom.
She makes the connection all on her own and smiles at my “mom”.
Reincarnation sounds painful,
Especially when you are turned into a bird.
One who can’t talk and has to watch your family age and go on without you.
That is why I will always believe,
My mom is not a dove.