Wednesday, October 17, 2007


Sometimes I think of you
and your tiny macerated parts
and how you left us all
so early
you left a hole
left whole
but some part of you behind

She feels your absence
although I never knew it
til the year of your deadbirth
coincided with that other boy's
the one from long ago
and I was shocked
that she still marked
the event

But how can a mother

And I wonder
at your stain on all of us
the residue of you

If you hadn't left
would the only son
still be in his mess
dragging others with him?

Would the elder
have felt the need
so strongly that
she persued the tiny seed
so relentlessly
regardless of the cost?

The pall of your failure
to be born
your stillness and decay
hangs over us

I ponder over the darkness
that remained
in the womb we both

What left with you
that she was not able
to give to me
and the stragler
how she struggles
to move to motivate
to understand
to grow

Quiet and watchful
the crowd making her laugh
and smile as she sits
and waits for it to come
to her

And the man
as sweet as he is
the one who says the words
I need to hear
never speaks words of you, but
he must remember you

I remember you
although I never met you
never knew of your existence
(yet) I remember you


Anonymous Anonymous said...

why have you stopped writing your beautiful poetry?

1:38 pm  

Post a Comment

<< Home