THE MOTHER(For Gwen Brooks)
You will never know
The joy of staunching my runny nose
But, you will miss it;
Eventually, you’ll miss it.
You will never know the elation or frustration
Of being my fueling station;
But, you will reminisce it,
And, The need to nurse will visit your dreams
But, you will not admit it
Your conscience will awake its stupor,
And, you’ll feel the unimaginal agony of my torture –
The tearing, the scraping,
The sucking, the cutting
Just To keep me from being.
Though only a despicable clot,
I was not without feeling, or caring,
Or the capacity for hurting
And as excruciating as the pain was
What hurt, mostly,
Was that you were
a willing participant in my killing.