I like the idea that if I post this now I will have posted on Wednesday. I've got nine minutes. So here's a poem, first published at The New Republic last year.
More soon, keep breathing,
We speak of rebellion when the kid
is a hellion and the folks are as mild
as a spoon.
born of freethinking lesbians
seem like reactors, turncoats
on how they were raised.
Let me offer another
of this explanation. Think of your mother
as one discreet corner
of a person with a multiple
You’re one of the others. One that split off.
Not a turncoat then, but the expression
of what was suppressed. The same woman,
your mother, who wants to help others,
also likes life as a racket
where the best finagler wins.
For reasons we do not fully assemble
she can not voice this redder side
of her nature and the voicing of it,
that is you.
You are not teaching the former
Their frenzied distaste in certain directions
was the cue you used
to decipher the code
of just how you were not
to do as you were being told.
--Jennifer Michael Hecht