A journal of narrative writing.
Lore of the Birth Mother

Listen to Lore of the Birth Mother read by Karen Pickell

She lived too far from Golden Gate, had lived too few years to be a hippie. She was less about free love than any love she could borrow, if only for one unsupervised night in that Summer of Love, when even a grown woman, unmarried, could not easily protect herself from the unintended consequence of cavorting in the rec room. Remember that she lived in a world where even a woman with a husband could not stand before a classroom with a round belly. Hear her father yell about the shame she’d bring upon the family, command her to hide in her bedroom when relations knock at the door. See her mother, bent on obeying her marriage vow, lead the child to her end. Sit with the girl across the steel desk from a caseworker demanding damages for her hospital delivery if she doesn’t sign her name on the paper that says she is not the mother of the child she grew inside her body. She had lived too few years to be responsible for another life, considering she had fallen easily into the arms of indecency, ruined her chance at landing an upstanding young man for a husband. She resisted as long as she could hold out. In the end, they took her first born love, wrapped him as a present for the faithful, obedient childless to raise without a thought of her constrained in a classroom, learning to leave the child behind. She had lived too few years to do anything different.