he says a mother's love is guaranteed
is instinctual but mine is not
a father's love must be earned
it is not innate is not certain
he looks down at his young son
as he says this thing
his son who will not grasp this moment
and though he feels its wind through him
will arrive at its meaning only gradually
when it has done its work
too late to unpick
will know only then
how a strand of his life
was pulled out
a story was flung struggling into the fire
a script was written
in a dark tongue
sending him down slowly some dark culvert
under dim gaslight to learn brutally
that such denied love
was never a cause for such regret
that its denial was the only gift given
by the one who couldn't give
.
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