Have you ever gone back and re-read a book you loved as a child only to find it incredibly disturbing now that you're an adult? Like The Giving Tree, for example: a terrifying tale of self-sacrifice or a reassuring story of maternal love?Which reminds me of this sonnet by Gwen Harwood:
She sits in the park. Her clothes are out of date.I think a lot of women have felt this way. Usually they get over it. I think.Two children whine and bicker, tug her skirt.A third draws aimless patterns in the dirt.Someone she loved once passes by — too lateto feign indifference to that casual nod."How nice, " et cetera. "Time holds great surprises."From his neat head unquestionably risesa small balloon... "but for the grace of God..."They stand a while in flickering light, rehearsingthe children's names and birthdays. "It's so sweetto hear their chatter, watch them grow and thrive,"she says to his departing smile. Then, nursingthe youngest child, sits staring at her feet.To the wind she says, "They have eaten me alive."
Having a child.
They drift through people's dreams
Thus does human nature