by Jane Tawel
By Jane Tawel
August 9, 2021
Are You not conscious
without my Being,
conscious of You?
and revises the mundane,
and painful, painful, pain.
You are both bane
and that small niggling voice
that makes me whole again,
if only temporarily, I fear, My Dear.
Oh- the pain!
I used to obsess about you
and that one time that you let me draw near.
Remember how the rain fell?
Rain, falling like the tears of our laughter.
Did I only imagine it?—
snot coming out of Your nose?! Hahaha…
and our laughter driving away your hurt,
my hurt, The Whole World’s In Your Hands Hurt,
like a rainbow.
You were once my rainbow.
I sometimes resign myself and I,
to doing the will of the dearest child
But, if not in fact,
in the ever-changing, ever the same,
universe of quantum physics
of the Ineffable Essence of Other
and others, and other days…
(perhaps actions are over-rated at the best of times).
Thy Will be done.
Your heart still held tenderly, carefully,
as if stone could ever remain unbroken.
Your pulse, beating close to mine,
as close as the womb I once shared.
Becoming what must be Willed.
Becoming, whatever in the world it means,
to always circle back to Love.
© Jane Tawel August 9, 2021
Written on the birthdate of my daughter, Clarissa Sandrine