Henri Cole


Childlessness


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.

Submitted: Friday, July 21, 2006
Edited: Wednesday, August 18, 2010

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  • Linda Ori (7/21/2006 4:35:00 PM)

    It's difficult when the memories of our past interfere with the dreams of our future. What we learn as we grow often pours over into our adult lives and we become locked into that pattern. You are very intuitive, and write an excellent, although very sad poem. Don't be afraid to trust.
    Linda (Report) Reply

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