When I Hold the Child in Me, I am Holding You



In a bathtub
To a sad piano song
That I never held you closer
And more lovingly
So I could bring you back to life
The way I read about in articles.

I didn’t know how to love back then
The way your death
Taught me to love,

I think now
I could have saved you
Repaired your little heart
But now I have a hole in my own
Left ventricle,
Holding space
Where you should be.

I guess it makes sense
That all this mourning
Of love
And sensation of departure
Is a cry out for you
To return to my arms.

After fourteen years
I have never forgotten your face,
How you trusted me
With your short life,

How I loved you.

I run toward love
Like I am running to you
You are love
To me
You held it in your un-moving body
And I have been
Searching for you
In the strangest places since,

Every loss
Is the loss of you.


Your Shirt, Purloined

I am afraid after spending some nights in the hunting ground.

Your shirt purloined
Within my gaping bag.

Finding such ration
Invented waver.

A finger-quiver
On the trigger.

It carried penchant
To a hesitant chamber,
Begot disorder,
Tethered hair at the back of my head.

I am afraid after pledging red grouse on a salver.

I track retrograde,
Wait, then, for a steady hand,
Hunt the cavern
For your bulk
To occupy the vagabond garment.

It stands upright
As engaged by some wraith,
Haunting rib-pitched chambers.

I am afraid to glance sidelong the heart
And entirely miss my aim.