I was abandoned
As a child before I had grown
I was abandoned
Abandonment taught me there is pain
That I am pain

It was my mother
The sun in my universe
It died
Went black

Ever since
I am pain
Hyper sensitive when a woman leaves me
I become unbearable
That pain


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Perhaps things have gone awry. Maybe it’s me that got the better of my life. Her memory I thought was real, but the conclusion was just an exhale of dust and chalk. Her good memory is vague, almost absent. Where has the sound of her gone ? Where is the voice?

I remember her heels on linoleum. Calling her cats on arrival. The floor below my bedroom filled with her being home again. The tea warming her cupped hands with legs folded and tucked. The fire place glow and warmth on her face. The eye glasses and needlework, graceful gray bobbed hair. How she aged with ease and not a care.

I knew her buttons and when to push. The laughter and marvel I was in control of. Fanciful purity of a child and mother without any illusion remaining to make one be self conscious of…

I remember her anger and disappointment in my doings and the shame it brought about. Confessions like led. An anchor of weight that could only plummet. Eventually ending with that fixed length of compassion and unconditional love she was never in  lack of.

I remember the instances (two) when I cut her off in mid sentence. With my enveloping hug I held her tight. Both times she was telling me she had cancer. I just hugged her. What else could you do. I always knew when she needed my real physical love. Words are never a lot when we are in abundance of what to say. Adults standing on a stage forgetting their lines when what was matters most is passing them by.

I read her like I knew her for a lifetime. Before I was born and when she was just an only child. Their little girl. The grandfather I never knew anything of. The home she grew up in. Her promise and talent and goodness. She passed it onto her children with her very own reaction of marvel. A look on her face to say hope is all any of us are ever thinking of.

I remember her art and creating. Being by her side. Her little boy by her side in art classes. Both of us sculpting, painting. Drawing. Thinking of the next project and where it would take us. Notebooks full of sketches. The sketch book was magical. Anything could happen and it would always be just fine the way it was. The ease of sketching something. It lacked responsibility and result in a adult world of consequence and being depended on. A paper napkin. Something so hopelessly practical could be turned into something so creative and useless in a way we never cared to think of.

The memory and sight of her in a car. Driving along as I walked by. A wave and our gesture in symbiotic awe. A mother and her boy. A love that only love can employ. Her pride in me being here and of her. Her friends would be smiling at the sight of the two of us. Each of us alike and inside those precious years we were shared. Life granted us time before urgency became a passage – a destiny to pull us together.

Our one last hurrah. One last chance. Before her memory would take a stance in my adult world. So hard and tough. She stands so very still. Unwavering. Untraceable, just a presence I know no other of. It makes imagination an impossibility, to think of what it would have been like. To talk to her adult to adult, today.

We had our time. It was what we were made of. Oh, one can only sigh. One can only cry. How precious she made my life. How precious each step and each memory we are a part of.

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Within Your Whisper

I’ve seen all the beautiful people
Still I never stopped looking for you
Smiles and faces. They are in endless places.
Lost mothers. Fathers.
Brothers on bikes. Sisters alike.

Tears I’ve had
I’ve earned my way through life
Imagine an imagination
Within your whisper

There are beautiful things
I can’t remember
If I did, maybe I wouldn’t bare to think of…
Each step is precious
I’ve taken so many that I can’t even remember to think of…

If our love is as deep as an ocean
I’ve been swimming
With only you
To think of

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Empty Spaces

So many days since the sorrow I feel was first felt
It’s a memory I can’t help, can’t use to make sense of what it’s about
What I’ve become is like an empty field after a disaster
All debris has been taken away. Swept up. Thrown away.
Never to show what the lives that live inside me have given me
Shown me lessons of cruelty, deceit, promise and hopefulness in a world we bare naked
Im all alone. So hurt. So tired for the first time.
It’s like I was given a cancer that no one knows anything about
They turn their heads and ignore you. But promise if they knew, they would do anything to help. Anything at all.
Her hands hold onto you so tight. White knuckles and veins through her fists. They hold onto half of what you felt.
Her sentences so short they leave just enough for you to have doubt
All the empty spaces and all the moments that this was really about
They’ve given way to two people not acting like themselves
The tenderness and affection each word once held
Is no longer
You were someone to her
You were where she was
Standing separate you hold on tight to her
In a rush she let her feelings fade
To deal with all the places you both occupied
Now they are empty fields
Where disaster was cleaned up
Discarded when there’s no use
No use to make sense of what it was all ever about

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I’m A Paper Cup

One day I hope I see something that I can’t ignore
Something like a harmony or overture
I’m living in vain
I’m alone, worried so much about all these life stains
This terrible circumstance
That tells me I’m not even close to being no more
I have a long way to go
Or without notice I’ll be no longer be able to be ignored
Without notice
Without fear
I’ll be no more
Im a paper cup
Im a plastic spoon
I’m recyclable
Im telling you
You’ll end up not where you thought
You’ll have homelessness on your doorstep
You’ll be life’s stain
Boredom will seem like a luxury when replaced by pain
People’s eyes will see the surface
Of your heartache that traded you for misery
Of memory that doesn’t suit you
Well, I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more
The passage back now leads to no one, no more
And no more

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How Early It Was  (dearest mother)

How you left me so very early, before I knew enough to help myself
So, we carry on. We carry forward with loss along with that love
That love that determines how we will love others
I cant go back, but I cannot leave you either
We carry on
Carry forward with loss

How early it was to wake, and to be whispered it’s over
How early it was in so many ways

Trust loves what we do not yet know
Binds the blinded with faith
Carries us forward without ever leaving that place
Where we nurtured love
Where our youth spoke no words like this
Before we had a chance to say goodbye
We learned how hard we would become

A man learning to love without you next to me
A man hurting to have a voice

When I was young my voice was effervescent
It would ring and smiles would fill the room
How innocent we were
How innocent I made you
How innocence loved us

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Hayworth: Do you think there is a connection between great gifts and great suffering?

Klemperer: (reciting Ecclesiastes I. 14-18)

I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and behold, all is vanity and vexation.

That which is crooked cannot be made straight; and that which is wanting cannot be numbered.

I communed with min own heart, saying, Lo, I am come to regret estate, and have forgotten more wisdom than all they that have been before me in Jerusalem:yea, my heart had great experience of wisdom and knowledge. And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly: I perceived that this is also vexation of spirit.

For in much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth grief.

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