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I was sitting outside writing in my journal on this cool, sunny day and I wrote a name that I had not written in 25 years. I immediately closed the book. I was too afraid to write any more. But here I am writing as I do and feeling so many things that I am unable to name. I found this sequence of poems I wrote years ago that address my feelings of abandonment, anger and sorrow after Adam died. When the suggestion was brought to me that this man, Adam’s biological father, who never had a role in my son’s life, be allowed to attend the funeral, I wrote these poems in response.
Birthmark
You were the first to see it,
startling like blood on snow.
The brushstrokes of sadness
lifted from your face.
I was a girl drenched in tragedy,
unbearable as spiders on your skin.
The one in the bed
shaping your body like clay,
holding to your dreams
as you let them go.
I relinquished something, too.
It burned clean and left no ash.
Conspiracy
It only took a little while
to figure out it was all a trick.
But it was too late;
the poison was in my blood.
I lived off the lie
while you cashed
in your body
for a place to sleep.
You‘re not the boy
who took it all away from me–
but you’ve stood
in his place for years.
Everything real chases behind you.
A Stranger Passing
You are never home.
You always make
the beds you get out of—
I am the secret you think of every day.
My husband comes home
sun-beaten, covered in dust.
My kiss refreshes him.
I married him to ride
the trembling horses
running under his skin.
His love puts distance between me
and the tragedy of you.
Why would you have wanted me?
I was a silly girl.
I ran to love as you ran from it.
Worlds collapsed in our wake.
Photograph Slips out of a Book
As the camera snapped, you hatched
a brilliant plan to fuck
the rich & senile.
Loot their cash & valuables—
leave them on the highway
sucking fumes of lies.
I told myself a conspiracy
of ravens carried you off.
Tore pieces to feed their nestling.
I never thought of you until the photo fell—
You were forgotten when I watched
fevers eat your child.
His eyes were blackbirds fighting.
He bleated “Father, father.”
I am touched that you can turn tragedy and sadness to such beauty. You are my hero.
My father always said, “Everything happens for the best.” I believe that sometimes. At least I try. Adam was a blessing and perhaps it was a blessing too that he never understood that he was abandoned by his father. He did not have the capacity to know that, and he was showered with love by us. I have peace in believing in the love that was there and trying to forget the love that was not. Also, I took liberties with the last line because Adam never spoke.