The Master’s Tools, The Mother’s Tongue

Every morning, I wake up silently. Eyes dry. Already angry. Disappointed by the air in my lungs.

I think I’m mad at the world. But I’m not.

The world spins as it always has, indifferent to the suffering of all but the wealthiest people.

I’m angry because I’ve woken up with someone who will spend the next 18 hours trying to fix me.

She won’t say it that way. But in the name of love, she will pick at me ’til I am raw and perfect.

We will eat.

Not because I enjoy the taste or even the texture of it. My pleasure has very little to do with it. We will eat food that feels like mucus in my mouth. I imagine tiny eyeballs popping whenever my tongue encounters it. I must rinse immediately after, or it will wear away my enamel or stain my teeth. Flaming hoops and obstacle courses with parsley garnish, washed down with water and lime.

We will eat whatever feels most hopeful for her body, for a future where she is thin. Each meal a concoction of disgust, embarrassment and guilt.

A requiem for herself at 15.

We will feel.

Not the way we really feel. The way she thinks we should feel. The better way.

Calm. Centered. Loving. Kind.

We will swallow the anger with turmeric. We will drown the desire with sea moss gel.

Transparent.

You can still see the thing. But no one would want to touch it.

No one in their right mind…

We will think about her exes who shattered her soul, and we will give them pardon.

We will think about her heartbroken childhood, and we will bathe it in light.

We will try to hold ourselves accountable. We will be meticulous in our words and our speech to ensure that if someone gets hurt it is us. Never anyone else.

We will do this for the next 18 hours. She is unrelenting in her commitment to my development. Every interaction is a teachable moment, an opportunity to improve.

I look at other people who seem to be just living and I wonder, what is wrong with me? Why does it require so much care and dedication to make me fit for the world? Why must someone keep a sharp, shrewd eye on me at all times lest I do some harm?

As if in a previous life I was a razor blade, sharp but with tetanus. Perhaps someone lost a foot because of me. Such is the level of care.

What’s wrong with the way I went to sleep yesterday?

And would I destroy everything if I was given a space wider than between the fingers of her clenched fist?

She is nervous about me.

And how people will see her.

I can see her tensing up every time I speak or sweat while walking.

It’s 17 hours in and we are getting ready for bed.

I make a list of things I am grateful for while she oversees.

I am grateful for my mom

                           my pets

                           opportunities

                           my dad

                           my health

                           food in my belly     

                           a safe place to sleep

We turn out the lights and lay down waiting for sleep to claim us.

This is the hardest part.

She will want to revisit today and look at how we could improve. A kinder tone in an e-mail. One less trip to the fridge. Tomorrow we will oil-pull or try some other indigenous method of taking care of our teeth.

I roll the full width of the bed. Feeling my breasts squish under my weight. Feeling my arms move and settle back beside my rib cage. Soft. I am careful not to disturb my slumbering cat and her fleas. My company on my strange and sleepless nights.

I look at the high ceiling and think about the day to come. The green juice, the workout, the requirements for an indefatigably positive mind. I pray for rest and peace in my soul. I fling my arms wide and sigh.

Tomorrow I will awaken as myself and with myself: unappeasable and dry-eyed.

Author Biography

Carla Moore is an Artist, Activist, Academic, Alchemist, and an Assistant Lecturer at the Institute for Gender and Development Studies, Mona Unit. She also lectures in the Faculties of Science and Technology, and Medical Sciences. Her research, activism, curriculum development, content creation, event curation, and coaching focus on personal and community liberation – with a specific interest in decolonized black and queer freedoms. She holds an MA Gender Studies from Queen’s University and a BA Media and Communications (Hons.) from CARIMAC at the UWI. Her publications are available through UNESCO, Duke University Press and UWI Press. Connect with her on social media @MooreTalkJa and look out for her upcoming publication in CSA Lateral.

Social Media

Enjoy this piece? Share it!