Dec 11 - the day I picked
it goes out of my head when I think on
it slinks back in when I don't
such horrible things a thousand before us has heard and a thousand more will hear again, nothing that hasn't been repeated in the chronicles and epilogues of all of human history
i've spent the waking moments crying
an irony not lost on me
that I have been given this gift
when the uncountable unborn remain without present
there was nothing you could do
stop saying sorry
don't be sorry
please stop being sorry
please
you did nothing wrong
and I can't explain it
and there's a fury at the universe and a God out there that feels so far today that I can't even reach out in anger
but it wasn't you
a perfect moment
he was yours
he was your perfect moment
it wasn't you
it wasn't you
it wasn't us
it wasn't the universe
nothing attributed or forfeit or angry or lost
he was perfect
you did such a good job
you're such a good mum
present tense
always
and I know home is where he is
and that the wheels I bought make home have sharp edges
wish I could take those back in this moment
but not all the moments before
she'll be there soon - it's all could garuntee
words are trite and I'm writing them here to spare you all the stupidity and indecency and hurt anything I could say would cause
you're worth more than words, more than anything a failed and fallen poet could give you, and never would it come close
little perfect moment
you are perfect as you are
and your mum too - she's perfect too
and why this happened is so cosmic bewilderment that will never feel fair in a world that continues to prove that fairness is an illusion and something we convince ourselves of, in hopes the rules we make the universe will be things we can bind and bend it by
no words
nothing trite
nothing I could give
everything I wish I could take back from you













