Family is supposed to be better than none.
Love is supposed to transform.
A hand extended is intended to lift.
An embrace is intended to warm.
She nursed you with chemicals, starved you of milk.
She taught you to need with no want.
They stuffed you with filler. They blinded with bling
And pitched soul-numbing dazzle to stunt.
Would you have been better off left where you were?
Was anything changed by our choice?
Your tongue now spits curses. Your heart still fears love.
The only thing new is the force of your voice.
The time you spent here, did it buoy at all?
Did we shelter or catch and release?
Did you rip yourself out at the roots when you left
Or shake off the shallowest layer of dust?
The man I see now: skinny, smoky, sunk-in,
More raw than the day that we met,
A self-declared orphan, fists balled on your thighs,
Wild hair dull, blue eyes hardened to flint--
How is it possible? Nine years of home,
Of my life braided daily with yours,
Was only the curl of my heart around air.
Was I somehow a fool for your ghost?
But maybe, like color picked up in the wash,
Or smoke curling under a door,
Or the imprint of sleep on your cheek when you wake,
We endure with you more than you know.
Son, we are real. With our flesh, breath, and soul,
You are named. You are loved. You are known.
Though the shell of you--hardened, electrified--runs,
The truth of you still lives at home.
--ErinRMS 7-18-15
