You are not your father.
I would have taught you about art, life, and literature,
Never knowing the smell of burning cigarette ash,
Or a breath stained with alcohol.
Your father and I could never reach an agreement,
Not even on your name.
I wanted you all to myself,
Without being born into a world with him as your role model.
Worrying about what he would teach as you ask him questions I cannot answer,
I would cry as he molds my little boy into his image.
Would you leave a trail of hearts behind you?
Including mine?
No, you would skip with me in fields of roses,
Drowning in their perfume,
Without the existence of thorns.
As museums and libraries are filled with giggles,
We would run and dance,
Introduce you to films and puzzles,
And learn about sports together,
Laughing at your clumsy mother.
Raising you to be the most artistic version of yourself,
You would embrace love, without fear.
I wish we met in an alternate dimension.
The books I would have read to you,
The songs I wish I sang,
And the memories that now escape me.
I am so sorry my son.
I failed to give you that life, though I desperately wanted to.
Forgive me if we ever meet,
For I fear we face separate eternities.
YOU ARE READING
An Ode to Muses to Kalliope
PoetryThis poetry collection explores regret, isolation, philosophy, with a sprinkling of guilt. Historical references are encouraged! If you're just going through the motions of life, whether it be blissful or difficult, these poems are great companions...
