IMOW - Drain

Stories

Themes

Love
Relationships in changing times. See the Stories>>

Money
Working women talk finances. See the Stories>>

Culture and Conflict
Are we destined to disagree? See the Stories>>

The Future
Envisioning the next 30 years. See the Stories>>

Highlights
Highlighted stories in film, art, music and more. See the Stories>>

War & Dialogue
Speaking from war. Advocating peace. See the Stories>>

Young Men
Our generation: young men speak out. See the Stories>>

Motherhood
Women get candid about pregnancy, parenting and choice. See the Stories>>

Image and Identity
Appearances aren't everything, or are they? See the Stories>>

Online Film Festival
31 films from women directors around the world. See the Stories>>

A Generation Defined
Who are young women today? See the Stories>>

Best of Contest
You came, you saw, you voted. Here are the winners. See the Stories>>

Conversations

What Defines Your Generation of Women?

selected theme

Search:

REGISTER \| LOGIN		Change Language» Invite a friend »

Drain
Cristina Teresa O'Keeffe

United States

GALLERY

CONVERSATION

This poem is an attempt to address the complicated roles and choices that woman are faced with after choosing to become mothers.

Drain
Down at the bottom of the tub,
The gathering place for water
And soap
And debris that is left at the end of the bath,
It seems to grow these days.
Mounting and collecting
Weaving its way in and out of the drain cover
Flowing and swishing with the tide of the tub
Ends poking out and swirling like the ominous hair of The Ring.

I only notice when I fully open my eyes,
Which isn't often at this time of morning.
It's still dark outside and she's finally asleep as my alarm goes off.
I let the water flow over me with my eyes shut tight,
A failed attempt to capture the elusive sleep.
They said it would happen around now.
They said a lot of things, most of which I don't remember,

But this one I could never forget.
They said it would be gradual but noticeable.
It has been more than that: I'm going bald.
When I think that no more hair can shed,
There is another fistful in my hand,
Waiting for me.
Enough to knit a sweater,
Enough to make me think that I'm changed.
I'm not the same.
I'm a different person now.

I'm less and more simultaneously.
I'm more with her but
The person I was fades away.
She sleeps now somewhere inside while I lay awake,
Listening for her breathing,
Hearing her crying,
Preparing for feeding,
The moonlight slowly dying as the sun comes up.
Another day, another dawn,
Another drain to stare at and watch slowly get buried
Beneath my shedding hair.
I stare at the reminder that six months has gone by.
I remember what she was like in my belly, quiet and peaceful.
See Full Story »

RELATED ITEMS (20)

Itzel Martínez Del Canizo
Mexico
I have been a mother for only a year, but my experience has...
GO TO STORY »

Azadeh Moaveni
Iran
Coping with the gulf between Iranian private and public life...
GO TO STORY »

Nina Paley
United States
Bundle of Joy or Population Bomb?
GO TO STORY »

Marizilda Cruppe – EVE Photographers
Brazil
Luciana is a 16 year-old adolescent girl, pregnant with her...
GO TO STORY »

/ / /

The content in this exhibit does not necessarily represent the opinions of the International Museum of Women, or its partners or sponsors.