poeming on the penultimate day of april


To think I could write myself
and not write you: unthinkable.
And to leave out our son,
whose existence rocked us,
who hadn't been rocked before

but who ultimately gave our love
an anchor to this world
that binds us stronger and wiser -
                      There is no me
without you and he, not now.
Just as there is no me
without my mother and father,
we've become the heirs
of all our ancestors.
                             And yet,
here I am, writing. Alone.
Writing myself onto the blank
screen, without either of you.
And I do exist without you both,
though the thought I'd be left
is so painful I feel I would die, it is not true.
I am only myself, I only need my breath.
I am the sum of all my parts,
but I am also the only one who lives
in this bodily awareness.

No matter how much I love,
I cannot do anyone's breathing
anymore. I can only breathe for me.