It is human nature
to want attention
without showing it with others.
And how severe is this selfish nature
if we are civilized people?
Two children approach
the same wooden seat of a seesaw,
splintered and worn past the grain.
They fight for that sore seat
until someone gives up, (someone must always lose).
This may be innocent enough,
even a little childish, but
reconsider those two children
As time withers down, past its own grain,
the seesaw becomes unimportant.
Mom, who do you love the most?
wearing down their poor mother
(who does it to herself sometimes)
until she is old and broken.
Even then, they compete
instead of time-share.
now lives by the sea
and has forgotten poor mother;
one lives in the same old farmhouse,
over time less spent.
Both have memories,
reconstructed to include comparison, greed, jealousy.
Both, now, want their mother
close to them,
so that these ashen memories can be sealed tightly
in mother's urn.
To make room, they must split
between the two.
They divide her
because they love her.
But, they will never be satisfied.
One will always wonder which sibling
got mother's better half.
- ► 2006 (17)
- Let me ask you: have you ever been in love? I mean...
- a reminder
- cat scratches
- all things beautiful
- Under the apple tree
- I'm sorry that you can't see our love on TV. It's ...
- She comes to me at night when I feel alone and wan...
- Please, my love, let me hold your hands tonight. L...
- Focus on what lies ahead as you wander afoot. The ...
- You don't think I love you the way others do. You ...
- Ah, Whitman! The leaves of grass may be dead, yell...
- Oh sorrow! Oh depression!
- In the style of William Carlos Williams (or poems ...
- I am a flame burning brilliantly for you. My lips...
- The teabag bleeds into the hot water, slowly oozin...
- While balancing an orange on the round tupperware,...
- Within these walls
- the waiting room
- Modest Proposal
- #1 son
- A breeze blows in the night. With it, comes the in...
- Take me out of this moment, this place in time, an...
- on writing
- what the heck?
- mysterious country
- today, tonight
- two children
- on writing poetry
- ▼ March (35)