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"Poetry is the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash." Leonard Cohen

Saturday, November 15, 2014


I remember the day you were born
looking at your tiny self
laying in that plastic thing they put
newborns in, all snug and peaceful
Beside my bed in the recovery room
I think I was still in shock from birthing
you - wondering, as your Dad did too
how anything so barbaric could have
produced something so small and perfect

But I also remember watching to see if
your little chest was moving up and down
Already so protective of you and that was
a wonderment to me also
That these maternal feelings I wasn't sure
would surface in me, came to the fore
immediately, almost without my noticing

I wanted to tell you that I would I always
be there for you
Because I knew in that moment, it was
true - that there would be no time
You couldn't count on me...that my love
was the unconditional kind

I also wanted to tell you that life was a
joyous thing, free from pain
But even then, the day you were born
I knew that truth was not optional,
not something I could give you once
or partially
Then take away and give you a different
version some other day

All these years later and I would love
to be able to soft soap
What's happening, what's happened
if only I knew how
But none of it is easy, and none of it makes
sense; more than anything
Truth is truth as always, and none of it
None of it is optional

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