I wonder sometimes
at the words I place,
of pseudonyms lost
and unknown author's notes.

Thoughts and phrases
waiting in a never mind
that I passed by
when I wore a smoother face
and life was less.

What focus might
an undiluted lens display?
Whose voice would speak
of loss and love?

What memories would haunt a man
who'd never known of you?
The swell of hip and breast,
the sound of whispers in the night.

How might he see a world
where "Daddy" never rang across the room?
Unclutched by grubby fingers,
shoulders free from tears.

I wonder sometimes
as I place my words,
but only for a moment ...
I have too much for that.

 
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