She’s caught between the flames
of inferno and ice
Accusations of blame,
of who’s not playing nice.
She’s caught between the fury
of defeat and aggression,
For neither is sorry
and all leads to depression.
She’s caught between love
crushed between hate
a magician’s dove
that is stuffed then must wait.
She’s caught between threads
stuffed up their sleeves
’til she’s dangling her head
beneath the nearest trees.
So you packed your canoe,
left a good man,
gave away that puppy,
you’d given to
those good boys,
those sweet little boys,
and rowed off to find yourself
on a river of their tears.
I hope the discovery
proves worth it
in the end.
You’re going and now I think
of all the things that could have been
and all the things that should have been
and all the things that would have been
if only you’d been forthcoming
before you left.
As they approach
your relaxed droop stiffens
your body tightens
each cell constricting.
You’re too old for
oppositional defiance
yet you shiver with it.
“Myself!” I hear your
two year old self echoing
through the decades. “No!”
But look,
this is a time of change,
and nothing changes without effort.
You have experts at your fingertips
and you refuse support and aid
because
Why, exactly?
You were so ready to fly,
and you’ve gone so far,
but now you’re quivering beneath the nest
while the parents flap about squawking
about winter migration,
and that cat on the porch.
You heedlessly tuck you head
beneath your wing
to nap.
Like a stone on the beach
she picked him up,
and took him home.
He filled her with new life,
and they held companionable
hands, two became four.
Beneath the bubble,
Poisons devoured him in relentless nibbles,
and the doctor said his only hope
was a healing journey
to a new way of life.
But toward,
is also away,
and children waved good-bye
to their skipping stone,
who crossed an ocean and
disappeared into time.
When you went away
full of dreams and plans
we waved your plane off
and wondered how reality
could possibly live up to
your unreasonable expectations.
We let you go to find your way
and when nothing is
what you thought it’d be
We have faith that
you will figure out
the reason,
and create reasonable
reality
for yourself.
Today
is one day closer to
The Day
when he goes away.
Flashbacks this morning
to junior high,
“Get up! Your dad is ready!”
“But Mommmmmm!”
You’re too old for this, my boy.
The day is coming,
when you move south
to live your next adventure.
Get up and face today
because you’re here so briefly
and today is unfolding
What you wanted to be
Everything you wanted to see
Was it you who lied?
Or was it me?
What dreams did you hide
in the tears you cried?
Was it you who lied?
Or was it me?
When your mother sighed
When your father denied
When you tried to foresee
Was it you who lied?
or was it me?
Were we lacking in pride?
Why could you not confide?
We simply could not see
so was it you who lied?
or was it me?
Who knew
when love first entangled
that rapture yields both
blessing and anguish?
Anticipated joy
dashed by disability,
disease, dread,
death.
Watching beloved baby
suffer
and the love that begat
all the suffering
lies so tangled
in anguish
that it’s difficult to
find it at all.
He said
his mother was dead,
because the gulf
between them
was wide with guilt
and jumping it
was beyond
their capability.
She said
her son was lost
because his choices
marooned him
on an island of his own making
and would not let
anyone in.
They said
their journeys
were in opposite directions
but eventually,
on the other side of the world,
they’re bound to intersect.
Shawn L. Bird 