You did not want to take a lover
Nor did you wish to be a partner
And I – with my near-perfect vision
Should have been able to analyze
The graying skin around your
Tiny eyes, which looked right through me
Even as I melded my soft body to yours
So that you would know how loved –
How adored – how desired – how needed
You were
I remained a placeholder
A seat filler
A perishable
I knew my expiration date had been stamped
On my back right where I couldn’t quite reach it
Could never wash it away so that we’d forget
That I was destined to spoil
You did not want to take a lover
What you wanted was a mother
Someone to provide for you
As you learned to navigate
The world around you
A 27-year-old baby
A toddler perhaps
With no firm plans or knowledge
Of how the world around you might
Look one day when you finally faced it
You wanted to be forgiven for
The tantrums and the failures
You wanted grand memories
You wanted vacations where
You sat passenger seat and
Simply enjoyed
You wanted grace
Not in certain situations but in a constant
Stream
Flowing over you from me as you fell
Shorter and shorter each day
The bar was low (you are a baby, after all)
And yet when you missed it
You wanted me to kiss your scrapes
You offered no apologies
For your shortcomings
The lesson had yet to come up in
Pre-K
“Sorry” was a kindergarten subject
I pray you’ll get there
You did not want to take a lover
You wanted a parent of sorts
That offered unconditional love
And sacrificed all of themself
For you
You and you
All of you
There was no compromise for
The broken boy who had lost all
He grew greedy and selfish
The world was against him
Only I could be for him
So when my needs grew too large
I suppose I joined the rest of the population
Who raised weapons against the little one
We all wanted the worst for him
We all wanted to torture him
So we did so with love and affection
With time and effort
With comfort and care
Just like Guantanamo
You did not want me
It’s never been clearer
I plucked you from obscurity
And took your words for genuine
Kept records of the nice ones
They all fit on a spare napkin
But I could have been anyone
You would’ve slept next to
Anyone
Pulse unnecessary
You cower next to the body
Warm or cold
And call it “mother”
And hope it can heal you
Yet you don’t believe you need
Fixing
I hope you’ve been fixed
In any version of the word
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