Sunday, November 1, 2015

Childlessness by Henri Cole


For many years I wanted a child
though I knew it would only illuminate life
for a time, like a star on a tree; I believed
that happiness would at last assert itself, 
like a bird in a dirty cage, calling me, 
ambassador of flesh, out of the rough
locked ward of sex.

Outstretched on my spool-bed, 
I am like a groom, alternately seeking fusion
with another and resisting engulfment by it.
A son's love for his mother is like a river
dividing the continent to reach the sea: 
I believed that once. When you died, Mother, 
I was alone at last. And then you came back, 
dismal and greedy like the sea, to reclaim me. 

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