Evolution . . . ?
A Mother’s Musings on Autism and Reality
Screaming
Screamer
Little things
No things
Scream
And scream some more
Scream for “yes”
Scream for “no”
You scream
I scream
We all scream
Because, you’re screaming!
I scream inside with
Rage
Anger
Disgust
That hates
The you
Of,
From,
Reflecting,
Identifying,
The me
Helpless
Bad don’t do
Enough,
“Here, let me
Tell you, show
You from
This that
Book study
Doctor expert,
Bad mother,
That you are
Not doing
Enough.”
Don’t know
What it is
Yet alone
What to do
About it
Make it go
Away
Yet,
. . . It is her. . .
Make her
Go
Away?
Stranger
Bringing more
Strangers
In my home
My space
To “assess”
(read: “critique”)
With helpful
Smiles
“You’re the
Mother you
Should know
Better. Do
This, that
And
Of course the
Other
Simultaneously.”
Now her
Entire life
Will she ever
Be do have any
Ability
Her own?
Freedom ever. . .
From her?
And guilt
For the desire
Ever shadowing . . .
Shame
I suspect
I’ve closed
My heart
But why
The ache
Often unbearable?
Ahhh . . . escape!
Welcome brief respite!
Provide through
Others what
You can not
Give myself
Unintelligible
Grunts sounds
And the
Ever present
Scream
Is all I know
Of you
Is there anything
Else in
There?
Do you know
Who I
Am we are
You are?
Little bird
Screaming
Mouth wide
To be fed
Movement
She
Dances
Jumping
Riding on
Three wheels
Feeling in-her
Ecstasy
Face open
No mask
Covering
I’m here!
Unruly
Unkempt
Untamed
Why must
I comply?
Whose rules
Are applied?
Sometimes I
Cringe at
The imposed
Stricture
Why tame
Her?
In every way
Must we
Kill her in-her
Space?
Are we creating?
Her better
By shutting
Her down
And out
Until we
See the behavior prison
We recognize as
This self inflicted
Perpetuated
Illusion
We arrogantly coin
Reality
Maybe she’s better
“Off”
Seeing
Being
Exploring
This perhaps
Tenth dimension
Of existence
We scream as part of us
In secret
Witnesses the death
Of our current extinction
Are we witnessing?
Evolution
But too
Conceited
Finite in our
Own awareness
So we do what
Humanity
Has done
From time beginning
Stamp it out!
Destroy
Silence
That which
We limited thinkers
Can not
Extend our capacity to
Embrace
Are we primitive spectators?
Evolving
And don’t
Even know
It
You scream
I scream
We all scream because. . .
Are you birthing humanity?
How then
In the midst
Of survival
To honor
The seed of
Her distinction
Is she here?
To take us to
The next
Step
In more
Ways than
One?
Honor her in-her
Screaming
Presence
Among you
She may be
The next
Of you
Full Circle
There’s no one but me here now
I have to, sons won’t touch you
Revolted by their own psychology
And what they think they’ll see
The calm consoling companions
Shield themselves from your
Possible contamination
Gloves confining humanity’s
Contact to sterile comforts
There’s no one but me here now
I have to, start smell good bubbly water
Warm not too hot
Soft wash cloth and towels to dry
Top half first
Gently, gently don’t tear the skin
Bathe the neck, shoulders arms and chest
Tenderly lift the now flat breast sacks
That then ripe in prime nourished
And nurtured my life with dignity
Joy and commitment
Bathe the belly that swelled and held five
The first born but not alive
The puckering sagging criss-cross
Scars of a life bearing warrior deserve reverence
Easy does it, roll to your side
Cleanse the back
Bearer of strength and sorrows
Quickly scan for bed sores
Thoroughly dry against a chill
Now, as if you were my child
Remove your diaper and wipe away
The foul collected between folds
And rinse through white once
Jet black short curlies
Mindful to preserve the dignity of your
Catheter
Onto long still girlish legs
That double-dutched with the best of them
To toes curling retreating in upon themselves
With disuse and reaping atrophy
Dry
Oil preserves the tissue paper of skin
In this sacred anointing process
We see each other
Mother to daughter
Daughter who is mother
Touched to touched
Nurturing to nurturer
We understand this service we render to each other
We cleanse and purify the wounds
Inflicted in the heat
Of learning ourselves during this
Forty odd year blink of an eye
The circle completes itself
There’s no one but me here now
Yesterday’s Thoughts
I am not
This person . . .
Empty Feelin’
Fillin’ up on
What & Not
Check bouncin’
Bank runnin’
Debt dodgin’
Caller ID screenin’
Excuse makin’
Landlord duckin’
Sleep loosin’
Time wastin’
Breathe . . .
Not today
No more
Yesterday’s thoughts
Got me this way
I am not
This person . . .
Accusin’
Complainin’
Debatin’
Manipulatin’
One-uppin’
Conversatin’
In my mind
Ain’t no
Body even
Nearby!?!
Breathe . . .
Not today
No more
Yesterday’s thoughts
Got me this way
I am not
This person. . .
Startin’
This, That
& Th’Otha
When I
Should
BBBEEE SSSTTTIIILLLL!!!
Bitin’ Off
More when
I should
Be relishin’
What I’ve got
Breath, Period
Not today
No more
Yesterday’s thoughts
Got me this way
I am not
This person . . .
Thinkin’
On:
“You Owin’
Me!”
Fearin’
Starin’
Judgin’
Unforgivin’
Breathe . . .
Not today
No more
Yesterday’s thoughts
Got me this way
I am not
This person . . .
Ever
Comparin’
Resentin’
Dreamin,
Tryin’ OOPS!
Now Fixin’
Never
Believin’
Releasin’
Bein’
Doin’
Sharin’
Breathe . . .
Not today
No more
Yesterday’s thoughts
Got me this way
I am not
This person . . .
Truth hidin’
Tangle makin’
Knot of my life!
Breathe . . .
Not today!
Breathe . . .
No more!
Breathe. . .
Yesterday’s thoughts!
Oh God! . . . Breathe . . .
Yesterday’s thoughts-
Bendin’
Swayin’
Erasin’
What’s
Decayin’
I beg
Your pardon,
I am not
That person. . .
She’s dyin’
I’m flyin’!
Mary T. Sala
Sala is honored that her work is being presented in Ascent Aspirations Magazine.
She holds a Bachelor's Degree in Theatre Arts from Pomona College and a Master's Degree in Performance from
New York University's Tisch School of the Arts. She has trained England with teachers from the London Academy
of Dramatic Art, the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, Central School and Weber Douglas School. She is a voice
and speech trainer and has been teaching theatre/performance on the university level for over fifteen years.
Her professional acting credits include the Off-Broadway production of The Caucasian Chalk Circle directed by
George C. Wolfe and Once in a Lifetime performed at the Samuel Beckett Theatre. She has also performed for the
Young Playwrights Festival, toured with the Lincoln Center and has been in several regional and national commercials.
She recently wrote and directed her first one act play Holding the Space Open at the Knightsbridge Theatre and is
continuing to explore her creative voice as a writer. She currently resides in Southern California with her husband and two children.
Email: Mary T. Sala
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