Wounded Boy

Your mother abandoned you.

She was unfaithful to your father—

and to you,

because you love no one on earth more than him.

Her exit was loud, not discreet,

followed by the footsteps of another man.

He became her husband,

but he beat her senseless,

her face black and blue.

She drowned herself in alcohol,

unrecognizable.

And you witnessed it all,

when you were only a little boy.

I want nothing more but to mend the gaping hole

she left in your heart.

I will offer you my tender breasts to suckle,

so you might taste the fruits she never revealed—

the sweetness of care she withheld.

I want to cradle you,

your head in my lap,

and weave fairy-tale stories out of wonder.

Do you feel it—the warmth of the womb returning?

I want to hold you close,

to promise with my arms

that I do not intend to leave you

as she once did.

You are no longer a boy, but a man—in fact, a decade my elder.

yet it does not matter,

for your clear, unhappy eyes

offer a glimpse of the wounded boy

you still carry within your heavy heart.