Abeles writes:
We tend to simplify our relationships with her, always referring back to an incident or series of effects that hang on the shoulder like a yoke. As adults, we imagine a chance to reframe a new portrait for her with warm and fuzzy edges. I am not asking the writers and artists in the show to address their ill-feelings in public, but I am thinking about complex connections that were forged in the past. In this way, we might observe a multi-dimensional impression rather than hiding out in our memories.
This is the time of year that we think of our mothers and of mothering. It's inescapable.
In that spirit, here’s a poem of mine: