Stigma
(for Ambronese and Mikale)
Are regret and sadness
the same thing as the
silence sweeping over
the edge of the sea this evening?
I, giving up my sacred
space now (my desk)
to a small child who wants to play all the time.
Demanding my attention.
At night, the moonlight
makes pariahs out of all
of us. Anoints our souls, these mortal bodies, our foreheads.
The glitter train of our memories.
At night, I’m unmasked.
No one is here to ask for
my hand in marriage. The
storm is over. The storm is over.
I have lived to survive
another day. Another “Jupiter”.
Barefoot in the sunny road of my dreams, I tell myself this.
Babies cry. All babies cry.
All babies are cute and
wonderful in their own way.
Then why, one morning,
did I wake up, wonder
where my life had gone?
Why did I long so for
what I did not have? A child.
A child to call my own.