Thursday, May 13, 2010

A poem for the inner child

The child I never wanted
Is demanding my attention
That’s what Anna says.

Too complicated by half
Listening to the small girl
I abandoned when her mother did.

At 8, I silenced her with chocolate and homework
And the stories of children braver than I
At 25, I drowned her out with bourbon and wine and the kisses of men.

At 63, she’s still waiting
Anna says she holds the key to healing
But I can’t see how so I take on another project
Cram it in to a schedule already too full by half
This homework of my later years.

Had I known how to mother a child
I would have done so decades past
But all I found were Peter Pans
And all they wanted were Wendys to mend their tears.

I didn’t see myself as Wendy, but as Nancy Drew,
Who solved the mysteries by her own self.
I was no Mrs. Darling either
Clueless as to what went on in the nursery.

So I grew up instead of listening to the child
How can it not be too late now
For her, for me.

The heart scarred, loving only around the edges
Yearning, longing, hungry for blessing.

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