You, we, I – were actors
You drew up narratives so you could
Tell yourself there was a Pattern
I was in that story, vulnerable muzzled
Like the Night on the coast
I’d walk into your purposeful longings
I knew I was a temporary comfort
You, whose eyes and hands I loved
And mouth, whose foreigness I wished
You, whose words and mind
Was dull, my name held too much compassion
For the role given, too wasted
By the irresponsible human stranger
I was declared obsolete by another
Or like an ancestor that gave no profit
Outcast, abandoned, made to flee the story
Aching for years after the city
Was but a memory, after your child had grown up
I cried sick days alone, in that terror
My heart reincarnated in grief
Your whale-songs were contagious.
Powerful and moving…
Thank you Willow, I’m starting a series of poems with Mandarin Titles, as an aid in my effort to learn that beautiful language.
I can feel the pain in this, but it’s written very, very well!
Thank you, some heartbreak stories relive themselves at certain points of the seasons like recurring dreams…
This is true.
Such pain and such beauty in your words.