FORGIVE ME, MY DAUGHTER
(Especially for Grandparents)
I want you to be the little girl, who
tore her many-layered petticoats on the parallel bars or in school and once
even chipped a tooth.
I want you, too, to be the child with bloody
knees who had matching holes in her new leotards.
Or maybe the one who fell from a swing
and needed a half dozen stitches beneath her eye.
Oh, I could hold you then there was
magic in my kisses that stemmed the pain and a doctor nearby for more tangible
aid.
But what do I do now, now that you are a
woman and your sorrows are commensurate with your age?
I stand immobile as your wan face leans
over the broken turf where your infant son, your only child, will soon be
interred.
I clench my fists, knowing there is no
solace any longer in my arms for agony of this magnitude.
You are deaf, too, to my murmurings; you
hear only the echoes of his laughter and his cries.
Of course, I am here when you need me. But I can only pretend I am a strong and wise
grandmother, when in truth, forgive me, my daughter, I remain a mother, heart-broken twice.
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