There is a grief that does not die,
stays in memory of an embrace
at the top of the stairs
because you knew I needed you
the someone who knew me and knew Mom
before she was admitted because she'd forgotten herself
A forever grief that speaks of how much
we were loved and loved,
that we knew one another
by an umbilical vein older
than any identity with fault.
I want you to feel my passion, to go back
to the last time we spoke
and listen more closely on your last birthday, to accept then
that you were dying.
And fly to you. To say, I'm coming now.
And make that happen.
To crush this crippling fear that I am not needed
anywhere by anyone but perhaps those who would rather rob me
shame and silence me as this stubborn compassion haunts them.
There's no greater desire than to look into your eyes
and I won't, so this grief that does not die
keeps me sane.
Love is not delusion,
love is bound because we were