For a son from another mom

Driving to the airport for your fourth year
at university. Been on this road
a long time. I think I see you quite clearly.

A landmark sparks a memory. A story’s spilt.
Your origin story always leaks like this.
My picture of your life’s a patchwork quilt.

There is no sequence, just some bursts of snaps.
I know I tried my best to intervene
when I could see you really needed help.

But every tiny horror sparks my guilt
I never really knew how bad it was.
Rounding a bend – vertiginous feelings tilt.



Ace of Spades

The others worked outside me. I,
tucked in myself, was trying to die.
...