November 11, 2008


I cannot remember. No, 
I cannot help but remember
The swinging seat that creaked
Its assent; the way the sun streaked
Vapid lines across your face
Illuminating the salt drops that would not stay -- 
That same vacant glance, your eyes did not understand.

No. You do not understand, 
but my jaded, jagged, joyful soul
longs for you to. I long for your community 
in our shared sufferings, joys, and lives.
But even this, to your daughter
You will not give. No. 
You cannot share.

Bread and butter only account for so much.
Laughing, crying, screaming, dying, and your touch.
I long for your touch. But, you do not move. Your vacuous
glance appeals to my core, begs for me to shut my mouth, 
and act like this rejection -- your rejection 
does not mean so much. You beg me to not remember.

But the way the yellow bubble illuminated the maple tree,
I cannot help but remember that placid, tranquil day
when you took the blame for abandonments 
you did not impart, when you ignored my
confession of my knowledge of our shared suffering.

It is not that I cannot remember. No. 
I cannot help but remember the warm wind skipping
through my hair and across my face telling me to be free, 
To fly south like the finches. But I cannot be free
Bearing these crosses of acceptance, and forgiveness, 

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