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Lines in the Rain

You, dear Brenda, are at home

with our son, whose remarkable

days have him laughing

like any kid he isn’t. When

we made him out of the wish

to make him, we knew nothing

except our own parents couldn’t be

close or far enough.

Our son can’t run, which may

be our fault, we’ll never know,

like sitting on separate daggers.

Love is the need to escape

the beloved, isn’t it? So you can

pretend you can’t cause any pain?

It’s a mutation of guilt, isn’t it?

I hide beneath sheets, close

to your belly, and apologize

—to you, to my mother, to our son,

to motherhood and fatherhood,

to all those now fleeing

what they love. It’s grotesque,

but I will cough something up,

a bloody string of self, to tie

you to me, me to him, him to you,

then we can all go our ways,

separate or not, or nowhere, and pluck

that string, feel each other

tensing, teasing the other end.

You may not understand—I don’t

either—but someday we might:

Someday shines on families like light.

from To Keep Love BlurryFind it in the library

Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2012
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.

Published in Craig Morgan Teicher Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.