Empty hands pack the nursery away.

Empty womb expelled life anticipated.

Empty chest remembers crushing words.

Empty sound where a heart should beat.

Empty dreams become regular nightmares.

Empty hope with the monthly visitor.

Empty smile as her belly grows.

Empty joy when an infant cries out.

Empty eyes, blank with numbness.

Bones brittle
Breaking down
Pain cursing
Surging rounds
No sense complaining
When rain beats down
Drumming skins
Popping knee
Grinding
Aching
Stiff trunked tree
Take down pills
Replace each bit
Piece by piece
Till the day
The heart will quit.

Where were you when I needed you most?
At work I suppose .
They say I never asked for you though.

Where were you when I took my first steps?
Out on a date perhaps. Reclaiming your wasted youth.
But steps turned to running eventually.

Where were you when I caught the wild rabbit?
Polishing the untouched house likely.
But in truth the joy of the moment would have been lost on you.

Where were you when Gram got sick?
Hating yourself and purging to have control of something.
But couldn’t see my confusion.

Where were you when my real mother died?
Protecting me from truth because it was too much for a child.
Or too much for you?

Where were you when I found my stride?
Claiming the praises for my progress.
And I just paste on a smile.

Where will I be when your body becomes frail?
The story unfolding, too early to tell.
I pray I am strong and I’ll handle it well.

I heard you went to Harvard
So you must be pretty smart-

The book-kind of smart anyway.

I can tell you that I never saw it coming—

That post-it-note break-up
placed on our bed
for me to find
after years of looking after you.

I’m not bitter though.
Actually wanted to thank you-

For sparing me the endless stream of dull conversations I’m certain you still have about books you’ve read and of theoretical science.


Because of you, I got to write my own new adventure to faraway lands, dirt in my hands and camel bells made out of tortoise shells clanging in the desert.

So thank you for being smart enough to set me free with your post-it note.

When I admitted to myself that I didn’t want you anymore

It was already too late

I’m usually the last to know

This is the end

So then,  we will never know

Was it worth fighting for?