Poem: Cheryl
Feeling sick, for feeling sad;
As sorrow should be his, and his dads.
An expected end is still a tough battle done,
And it aches in my gut as lost, not won.
When I first met you, on advice, I tried hard not to swear,
But I accidentally said ‘fuck’… but you didn’t glare.
You welcomed me wholeheartedly into your family’s embrace,
Each time so happy to see us, love all over your face.
I think of you and the happy face you’d make,
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As I’d dance through the door, all smiles and cream cakes.
The magazines you’d kindly share with me,
Because they come from where I used to be.
The way you’d watch me, looking at him,
Comforted, knowing of love, I’m full to the brim.
Sometimes I’d hug you and fear that you’d break;
You’d fought for so long; how much more could you take?
His eyes are salty lakes that leak loss down his cheeks,
I’m helpless to help him, too speechless to speak.
The course of his grief needs time to run,
Trust I’ll do as you asked, and take care of your son.
