The dream of chaos and
a cluttered apartment,
two lost children,
one small and barely vocal or mobile
the other older and already running off
at the slightest whiff of abandonment
The phone call from the 'mother'
reminding me of my promise to 'watch' them.
I carefully gather these hard-known
doppelgangers and dress and feed
and read and bed them, all while
listening to the dulcet tones of the
new male friend, talking and talking.
He doesn't see the kids but it's okay.
I do. They are mine. They are me.
The talking goes on while I gather dishes
stack books, accumulate laundry, and
(curiously) check the swimming pool
for stragglers and stuff, while
neighbors ghost through and around, oblivious to
my presence and his. Who's real?
He promises and pays and and prays and pontificates.
He makes me laugh, unexpected and joyful.
I am soothed by his care and his hopes,
yet unswayed from mine. We verbally meld
our hopes and thoughts as I strive.
The disordered home doesn't seem to clear much
despite my orderly efforts, yet I am
clearer eyed and calmer and once again the
kids are quiscient, content, loved.
I won't forget
my precious ones
the truest me's
the smallest to the largest,
my purest and cherished self.
As we explore new vistas and relationships
I'm holding us tightly
We won't have to lose
ourselves or anything else
unless we choose to
to be more truly