a daughter's guilt (2nd version)
A daughter’s guilt
When I was young
You’d spin me round,
Making airplane sounds.
High and untouched,
I was.
And on days my mother’s
Dryness escaped me
You explained her
With direct kindness.
In the garden we shared
your lessons.
The joy of creation and cause,
Rusty iron posts and the smell
Of honey suckle.
Even on nights
As I helped you with your socks,
Sirens blaring,
Her blood still thick
On your knuckle bone,
You managed to make me feel
Superior.
Like Mother Teresa
I wiped your tears,
Stilling quivering lips
With my own.
The mirage bled through the years,
Your image slowly crushed like
Grapes in our garden,
Bitter skins of guilt in my teeth.
In life I have bartered
For love,
Acceptance
Each turn took,
Like a child still,
With acceptance and hope
Whole-hearted.
Lapping up the morsels
Of that same superiority,
The better person,
To spite myself.
I gave futilely,
a second hand jigsaw puzzle,
I didn’t own all my pieces.
And now I remember,
That night
That hard truth
Beyond the bedroom door
Clutching my sister,
And Your explanations
Not so crystal.
Things a child does not see.
second version of this poem, please tell me what you think.
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