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July 10, 2009

flesh of my flesh

When a knife stikes my heart,
pain fills my being,
or longing is thick and achey in my soul -

I will not look round green-eyed at the fireside happiness of others;
nor throw sour petulance at those not meeting the needs only I can meet;
nor become all hoity-toity judgemental, so help me God; please, not that!

Instead, I will walk carefully; walk with care,
like a woman full term, steady and holding,
for these are my children;
not rough intruders from some place else,
some malign beyond,
but flesh of my weak sweet flesh.

I am a witness!
My heart fashions the knife;
my being makes the pain,
and yes, my soul proceeds by longing, every step!
So they are mine, all mine;
the stuff of my cells; a choir I conduct,
and chanting words like buck. And stops. And here.

So I will walk carefully; walk with care,
and be a good parent to my children -
changing, becoming, with futures quite beyond prediction.

And in that beyond, I shall be a good grand parent too, I fancy!
Rocking-chair aware that these things were never the end of the adventure;

but its very substance.

Posted by Mr Bojangles at July 10, 2009 03:44 PM

Comments

Posted by: rose at July 12, 2009 11:24 PM