I struggle
Oh how I struggle
Only a few
Understand
Casual friends
And colleagues say
I’m sorry
For your loss
But the real loss
Started long ago
At birth
I think
I wanted someone
To adopt me
Because I knew
I had been dropped
Down the wrong chimney
I need to
Mourn her
But anger remains
Because I cannot
Be sorry
For my loss
At the beginning
Don’t be sad for me
Now
years ago you were in labor
maybe not yet
my birth was so easy
(as in ‘the last easy part of our relationship’)
there was just delivery
no L&D
just
me
there to continue to disappoint
ever after my painless entrance
worse, even, when my mind
was born
the pain denied at confinement
grew elsewhere
a thistle seeking little water or light
just a bristle spot
to be
protecting itself
hiding its flowers
filled cursive curses
forgive? no need
you never asked
though on I’ve moved
over and under
a hindered limp
from a small thorn
implanted
at birth
1. The Older
We build a place, a common ground for
us to use to energize the topics we need
to keep the talk going. There’s a distance
we must travel each time. It frightens me —
the distance seems greater each time.
2. The Younger
And finally,
he’s learning
to be patient:
he smiles, nods
and then offers
to help whenever
I seem confused
— quite often now
I need this.
I visited my Mom at the morgue today.
She’s doing just fine. And thank you for
asking. It’s sad it’s come to this, but now
we communicate much better. Death doth
become her! Too bad we didn’t share more
in life. But, as they say, it’s never too late.
At least that’s the way I feel, though I can
see you might differ. You remind me of Dad
before he passed away. Always the stone face,
the inscrutable Sphinx, always guessing at my
thoughts, and I his. You might say things have
settled down a lot now, and we can move on.