Poems for the Pained

The Childs Eye

From the womb to the ground I will know my mother's love,

I will know her warmth and embrace,

I will know her smile and how her eyes glint with a wonder long lost.

I will know that her favourite colour is blue, but sometimes it's green,

I will know that she likes Bruce Springstein, that she was a rebel at my age,

And a mother by her next birthday.

From the delivery room to the graveyard I look for the love of my father,

I look for him in places, sometimes in people. 

I've lifted a few rocks in my time hoping and praying that it was all a scheme,

Childlike conspiracy theorizing,

If I stopped looking for him, stopped making up stories of astronauts and special agents, 

Then I'd just be left with the knowing.

I look for him to find out his favourite colour, his favourite music, how he sounds when he speaks.

I look for him to find myself.

I look for the love of a corpse to prove that I exist.