My mother never taught me to text, to peel
the skin off my words
And mince my emotions into emojis.
She never taught me to take a selfie, to swivel
the world around, and paint
a singular, sierra existence.
My mother never taught me to tm my identity, to sew
life's fabric and re-stitch
reality's rips away.
She never realized the birth cord couldn't stretch...
And that a girl could hang
herself in
this wireless world.
Meghan
Ferrari grew
up in Caledon and studied English Language and Literature at Queen's
University. She completed her Masters in Social Justice Education at The
University of Toronto and presently shares her passion for creative writing
with her students, as an English Teacher for the York Catholic District School
Board.
See Brian
Henry's schedule here, including
writing workshops and creative writing courses in Algonquin Park, Barrie, Brampton, Burlington, Caledon, Cambridge,
Collingwood, Georgetown, Guelph, Hamilton, Kingston, London, Midland,
Mississauga, Newmarket, Niagara on the Lake, Orillia, Oakville, Ottawa,
Peterborough, St. Catharines, Sudbury, Thessalon, Toronto, Windsor, Halton,
Kitchener-Waterloo, Muskoka, Peel, Simcoe, York, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.
Great imagery. The closing stanza brings it together so graphically that I clearly feel the message of the contradiction seen between familial relationships, tradition and legacy on the one hand and image, fast-paced technological communication and processed falsehood on the other. It is very thoughtful. It is very much of the theme 'old versus new'. It is a bit nostalgic and reflects a disorientation and suffering of the youth in our time. It reads as the common human experience, which adds a sadness to it. I enjoyed it very much.
ReplyDelete