Song of My Son: Song of My Self
Paternal as I long to be—distance
Erodes memory. How long since I held,
Desperate, clinging infant you? Beheld
Alive your eyes, my eyes. Our insistence,
Not from love’s lack, but in the persistence
That hope demands for better . . . Could love weld
Hearts together? No. Neither could love meld
Alive our strange insanities—penance
Left us only one choice: your adoption,
For your mother and I were oil and flame—
But either no fault the other should claim
Lest karma strike fatal conflagration!
Utter love and contempt as fire we shared
Despite paradox wishes—We ran scared.
David M Pitchford
19 October 2007
I wrote this just now as part of a sequence that goes with my fourth novel. The sonnets obscure clues the characters are desperate to solve, as it is the only way to retrieve the paternal character from a magic mirror. One of the characters is based on a son I and his mother gave up for adoption some years ago. Sometimes poetry can help us work through tough spots, even if their encysted memories that catch in throats with cat claws and rend our hearts until tears flow from sources deeper than life . . .