A letter to The Child Whose Life I Shaped

I pulled that trigger.
I loaded the bullet that changed your life.
Did I think?
No.
I was purely trying to save my own life.
No.
I don’t know where your doll is.
No.
I can’t help your dad.
No.
I can’t get you out of that dark room.
I am so sorry.
I mean,
sorry won’t bring back your doll.
Sorry won’t take that missile off course.
Sorry won’t make the men stop “visiting.”
Sorry won’t do a **** thing,
I can never take back my actions.
I know that I broke you.
I flipped your life upside down and turned it inside out.
I don’t know your name.
I don’t know your favorite color.
If I could go back,
and get to know you,
your favorite food and how old you are,
maybe I would have laid my life down for you.
It is too late to do that.
Too late to save your parents.
And your doll.
And your childhood purity.
No.
I didn’t know.
I didn’t know that I was shaping your life.
No.
I just didn’t want to know.
Didn’t want to think about it.

Sincerely,
The Man Who Drastically Changed Your life

If you think of me in the spring,
think of dogwood petals
in my hair, greener grass
and new beginnings.

If the summer solstice
finds you walking alone
in the garden of the moon,
remember that I'm somewhere
walking alone, too.

If you sing of me,
sing in the fall
in blue flannel and jeans
like the saddest song of all.

And if I pretend to die,
and you pretend to weep,
I promise to do it in the winter
when there are no flowers
to send in your pretended grief.

many flowers, only one blossom...*

the singularity
of it

even a king does not
ride the same mare
twice

each particular
and unique

each time a new
first time
whomever the
writhing body
beneath

whether upon

the car hood
or cemetery grass

behind a dumpster
or in a bed even

one's red ****
explodes
disturbed
only by a
ceiling fan

another clutches
screams and howls
out an aria

a third comes
silently with
giant moon eyes

tenderness
of thighs
and the
sweet wet
mystery
between

none admit
comparison or
nostalgia

each one complete
and unique

satisfaction is
not a number

whether one
or a hundred

even a king cannot
mount the same mare
twice

each woman
always singular

not one
ever twice.

her black wings
flatten with the weight of the world
cancer ward