The Cleaved Rock

in Muhlenberg Park,
split as if for us.
Our mother’s furrowed ‘no’
was futile; we were inside
so quickly, and out of her reach
completely—she wanted us returned
But we were whole
in that dark space.
And in that stony igloo,
I felt the strength she drew from
her disappearances.
I learned the power of grey retreat.

And she cried out
as we slipped forever
once again
into arms
that could not hold us.
 
 
 

                                                Go to next page