On the Death of a Son
And me, I'll roll up all my hate in a ball
Bury it behind the glass, squeeze it behind the sofa,
Hide it behind the smile of my reflection.
Nurture it, feed it in the dark, cherish it deep in my soul,
And wait for my moment, the time of release,
When this pent up anger, this dam of loathing,
Will break and sweep all pretence away.
I long for that day. The hope sustains me
Through your reptilian touch,
Your unwanted caress
And loathsome tenderness,
Til the hour comes when my revenge is born.
For you survived whilst our son died
Leaving me bereft.
You whistle and smile as if he never existed
As if life goes on without him,
Whilst for me, my life has stopped.
We move as empty shells,
Husks of our earlier joy,
All pleasure and softness fled,
Leaving an eternal emptiness.
I feel your hate, your loathing.
You recoil from my touch,
As if some poison lives in my skin
Eating your soul.
For I survived whilst our son died,
Leaving us both bereft.
I whistle and smile, masking my broken heart,
Trying to build a life without him.
I watched him die, cradled in my arms.
Felt his life ebb away, lived his pain
That day our lives all stopped.
An everlasting moment that haunts me all my days.