Cherubic and reeking
grief’s pallor heavy
he comes to me
Of course, he does
I am schooled in compassion
seldom flinch at raw pain
I attend to the wounds
listen; reassure
but I am weary
My own sorrow unattended
loss and betrayal an inner bleed
know I have only so much to give
But he is not alone,
there is another
a mere child…
Cherubic and reeking
grief’s pallor heavy
he comes to me
Of course he does
and I will sign on to stay…
schooled in the art of compassion.
(The stories that come to us in the dreamtime, often celebrate anniversaries. Years ago, I was in a cycle of abusive relationships, culminating with the one represented in the poem. We met on New Year’s Eve. My son, then early teens, remarked to me that I always chose relationships that asked a lot of me but seldom gave in return. While I laughed it off in the moment, his words remained with me, especially as this man also betrayed me with another. It was the turning point I needed to do some real soul-searching.)
Image my own.
One Woman's Quest 