Saturday, December 19, 2009
Posted by Maggie May Labels: Babies To Teenagers
Goodbye then. Goodbye to all that, baby. baby. no. No more nurtsie momma. No more rubbing my flanks from behind when you are nervous, or tittering with the mole in the crest of my throat for comfort. No more kissy lips like fish. no more flubber. no more Pokemon and the endless recitals of each character's prowess, powers. but most of all, what is filled there. The anger not made in my body or my hands but brought up in the kiln and fired in the kind of blaze that burns to bone and then even deeper into the cells of the bone so that your bones are empty and you are knock-kneed and sock-eyed and left to fill yourself with what you can create in your cave with what he has given you which is all stone, and fire, and stone, and fire, and the way you fly into the air is on the lip of the flame. Which I watch in self absorption thinking ' how did this happen when I was so sure it wasn't going to happen because I did everything, everything different and in the name of love? and again. how did this happen because i did everything they told me and the therapist gave me four years and I went on bended knee to show the wrong of me and make it right, all in the name of love? and again. how did this happen when I begged borrowed and worked every day and every night to burn it down and build it right and give it to you? only so that you would not hurt like this. only so that you would not self-destruct like this. and again. ' How can I make what isn't mine or scoop the mud clay from your chest and replace it with something else, something that does not leak from your eyes and mouth at night and leave you calling out in your dreams for it to stop! stop. I hadn't planned on the other love of your life, sweet boy. I hadn't calculated the weight of a father. Me. Of all people. Me. Not calculating the weight of a father. It's the same great play and I blinked when his part was announced in the opening and coughed and yawned and thought only of my hand in yours on the stage, your eyes looking at me, your little spirit and mind so fine, so fine, and so safe in my care. Me. Of all people. Not calculating the weight of a father. Or the weightlessness without.