Mother
I am here beneath the piano stool
Am I hidden
Or do you see me
As you hold my brother
In your arms
And whisper
Your love?
Maybe
I had been too often the angry child
Unsettled
With the un-comprehending rage
Of sibling rivalry.
But a desire
To be held
And whispered to
To be held
And told
To be held
And to hold
Was then and there
Was it only a second
An instance
A moment?
It has travelled with me
Forever since.
As the slightest shifting
In the second of an arc
Removes the destination
With increasing separation
In each step of the journey
So, too, the need increases
With each passing second
In this existential momentum.
But a desire
To be held
And whispered to
To be held
And told
To be held
And to hold
Is now and here
Its incrementing grab and stab
Is exponential in my heart.
The catch is
If I ask for my redemption
It has not been given
Unbidden
Of you,
And there will always be doubt...