my father’s words to me, aged 10
What he said startled me,
a compliment I didn’t get at the time.
Sorry to disappoint you, Daddy;
you knew I’ve a wilful mind,
you were proud of my muckle moo.
I’m no witch, to be persecuted,
though there is hell to pay for it.
Mother, homemaker, wife,
nameless woman. That’s what
nosey strangers expect.
What exchange is that for the gamble
that daughters be carers,
what price freedom, solitude,
the joy of being me,
the making my own money, guilt-free,
caring for everyone, being a friend,
saving the burning world.
“The poem grew out of my reflections on how life has panned out for me. I had a stable upbringing with parents who worked as a team, were explicit but not overbearing about their love for me. They wanted nothing more than for my brother and I to be happy and independent. Animal toys drew me from the start and my burning wish was to have a dog. Never mind dolls or babies, unless fur babies! A good education motivated me, not motherhood. I married and children were never really planned. There’s a population explosion, and so many children in need looking to be adopted. My teaching career allowed me to support years of students both with their studies and through pastoral care. Simply put, I’m too selfish and impatient for the constant worry and stress of 24/7 child rearing.
Maggie Mackay’s poem ‘How to Distil a Guid Scotch Malt’ is in the Poetry Archive’s WordView permanent collection. Her second collection ‘The Babel of Human Travel’ was published by Impspired in 2022. She reviews poetry collections at The Friday Poem and chills out with her beautiful greyhound. The best of breeds.