Of Bones, Blood, Mother, and Love:

You
taught Him
so many things -
most, sadly,
realized
as learned too late - learned
nonetheless.

At thirteen
He
accused You
of belonging to a cult, of wanting
to interfere through vindictiveness,
with relationships He would pursue
as his birthright - and You taught
unconditional love;
Go My Son
if it will please You.

At fifteen - angry
as ever, hating
a world for His differences
and Its differences, seeking
refuge in amber fires
of liquid and sticky green
smokes - He spun downward
into Himself; desperate
to throw a lifeline
into the darkness of His mind
You sent Him for rehabilitation.
His retaliation? Claimed You,
not He, was the drunk, You,
not He, needed the help - You
responded simply;
I love You still.

At twenty-three, mind
soaked thoroughly in the fires
He drank daily, lashing out again
at repeated attempts to shine
a light
in the darkened mind; packing
a bag one afternoon, leaving
a stack of unpaid bills where
a body should have lain
sleeping,
He vanished; swallowed
by distances. And when,
after two years of silences,
He returned? I Love You
My Son - have You
been well?

At twenty-seven when
a world screamed Your foolishness
in holding Him tight, giving a human soul
become a feral rat - if that
does not insult the world's rats - shelter, food,
providing transports for a slow suicide
not for wanting to, but to avoid
the quicker, deadlier,
suicide of self transit.
Asked later Why - Why
did You not
give Him the boot? You
are My Son
the simple reply.

At thirty-three, sick - dying
from the inside out though none
(except Yourself perhaps) knew this,
You flew - against all wisdoms
to the rescue of one half
of an unknown brood to raise them
in the shelter of Your wing as He
once had been. Angry, scared
(something He could not admit
then to You or others) for Your
welfare
He opposed Your deed asking You
to care for You and You
replied -
they are Blood and deserve
the same world You
deserved.

At thirty-seven, separated
by all but the thinnest wire
of light a thousand miles times three
from them - He begins to understand
now. Now, when the world
has simultaneously ex
and im ploded, when reality
becomes illusion and half-whispered
shameful fantasies are the reality, now
He begins to understand. Understands
and wishes things different -
that the lessons had not taken
four years too long
to learn.

Wanting
to aid the brood He can not
He has learned at last that Blood's,
Mother's, Love
is unconditional. And would,
if He could, tell You only this; that He
will love unconditionally.

Or not at all.

_{Friday, December 03, 2010}