scooping silent, hush baby,
i’m here, hush,
but only in my head
i trip on the piano stool
“god ******” i whisper
gently
i smile, our second genetic
mutation, clumsily fondles my
face in the dark, once, twice,
three times, to be sure,
i’m here
her fingers poke my eyes
tug at what little ****** hair
i have and go limp with dreams
only babies have
it occurs to me; this cruelty of
being left alone,
in blank black darkness,
is falling from a ledge
backwards and slow
she is my earth and i
am her sun, if i am gone
where is she in the vastness
of space and time?
her breath grows deep,
i wonder, what have i done
to you? to myself?
you must be strong,
wise, courageous,
thoughtful, creative, respectful,
kind, generous, forgiving -
a litany of perfect virtues
achievable only sparingly
yet, there is one trait,
one asset i value, almost
beyond ability, grace, and
beauty:
independence.
you can do it
its your responsibility
its your fault
you asked for it
you only have yourself to blame
you should know better
you created this mess,
you clean it up
you said…
a parenthood spent hacksawing
my children from myself -
i wonder what they’ll do to
me?
what is the sun without planets
than a lonely lantern in nothingness?
what is the earth without its life?
gravity without its force?
sunsets without a witness?
what are you without an egg
and a *****?
independent?
i’ll try to remember these cries,
they weren’t for her,
they were for me.