Baby boy. | Eros. | c. 2016
That time I had a lover.
I asked a lover: When your mother held you, As your tiny lungs screamed Did she imagine you: Unsure, Unsteady, Untrustworthy. She prayed over your eyes to see a different path. The same way she prayed Over your father’s wayward feet. As she dies, Your cries go unanswered. Your road is lonely. You killed the boy. I miss him so.
Thoughts on “Baby boy.”
Since the person that this poem is about is very much alive, I’ll refrain from certain explanations. What I will say is how, upon reflection, how bitter this piece reads. At the time, I didn’t care to be anyone’s “wifey” or even a “girlfriend”. I was comfortable having a “roster”, a horrible term that people my age use to describe the few lovers we may (or could potentially) have. I’m sorry that I participated in this language. It makes it all sound perfunctory and mechanical.
That may be why I was so disappointed in the lover this piece is about. We’d reduced each other to a specific function: sex. Which, is unfortunate, because we’d been friends and admitted to loving one another dearly. I’d wanted more from this person: better behavior, stricter morals, firmer actions, but I realized that he wasn’t the boy I adored anymore. He’d become someone else while I wasn’t looking.
SABLE will be writing more about “eros”.
Thank you for reading. I’ll be posting more from the back log. Sadly, I don’t have the energy to find images for this one. How about you suggest something in the comments? That’s fun. Anyway, be blessed.