.
Kimberly Alynn.
born too late, still
after only one breath too soon
the end of May 31, 1986.
I had been the only one who knew when you stirred
when you felt/heard Beethoven and Vivaldi.
I sensed you yearning for harmony,
our futures uncertain in that maternity home,
but could offer you only me.
The world told me I had nothing to give
not good enough, choose adoption
So I entrusted my treasure to a lifeboat without me.
.
But maybe you were here for us;
because the music of the Heavens pulled you back.
Gone, but not yet born.
The clock stopped,
and the minutes would not relent the suffering.
A time of hope, vanished...
a hope of beauty, soundless
and still, Memorial Day
is would-have-been 5, 16, 27 years old.
Your life I carried, your future was my young life.
now always without you in this incomplete world
where I am your broken heart
and you are my empty arms.
.
I am not allowed to say it wasn't-supposed-to-be-this-way
since I don't know what you knew
and your future was only my dream.
.
This one night returns every year
and this house becomes too small.
I ride my motorcycle just to ride,
leaning through the curves up the mountain,
if I could only keep going
the midnight road pure black.
until hands too cold, I stop.
Silence punctuated by the cooling engine, it gently
tinks
and I breathe in sacred cool air.
.
The Big Dipper spills colorful twinkling gems across the valley below.
The mountain curves away above my shoulder,
her massive peak leaning back fascinated only toward heaven's brilliance,
the infinite distance palpable, tangible.
The Milky Way tipped sideways,
starlight pours down, eternally washing over.
Or am I spinning sideways on this small planet
in vertigo of re-awakened grief.
Galaxies so numerous I count them rise,
sparkling as they appear.
Even the mountain is so tiny, telling me,
see? we are so tiny...
.
pure volcanic rocks, road, and I are bathed in soft light
yet in still perfect cold dark solitude.
Only the road's straight white lines glow.
my road,
yearns up in reflection...
Tonight I give you memory,
all that I have to give.
My baby girl, you are not forgotten.
A small wind finds my hands,
and my cheek, with its one tear.
.