Black Milk

There are many ways in which we comfort ourselves and
embrace the illusion that motherhood comes with no darkness.

That it doesn’t come with any despair or that we don’t occasionally find
ourselves staring into space, far gone in our minds to seem sane.

It’s, of course, the exhaustion, they all say, sleep is a luxury, and most agree.
But there are parts of us, within, that can take a dark turn.
For a few, motherhood comes with some heavy-heartedness and
it overwhelms,

with a constant demand to show up despite
the exhaustion, loneliness, uncertainty and confusion.

Is it sane to assume that any new mother arrives prepared?
Is it wise to assume that all make the journey to their new self easily.
How many are even given the time to recover, to physically regain
a little of what they’ve lost.

It is hardly a surprise, then, that many women find it difficult
to come back to themselves once motherhood is

no longer new or unfamiliar.
Many remain too foggy in their brains to remember

what they lost in the first place or to question why
darkness dwells in places that should be filled with light.