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The Shunned Son
He refuses to believe she has died
and shuffles through life in search of The Mother
MIA six months or more at a time
Whatever he feels is of value, one will surely miss
In the wake of his smooth departure
So much as attempting to blink
Against
Hands so quick giving meaning to his
Shifty eyes and crooked grin
Fashioned he has, a sort of pig Latin
A dialect of his own
which he mumbles with such a comical tongue
Watching his every move while he wrestles with the children
They love him
And the dirt gathered at his ankles
His ragged nails and the grime caked beneath them
All of which we have come to detest and look down our noses at
He turns his head, pretending not to notice
Even in triple-digit-degree summer heat
He dawns a huge, stale smoke scented coat
Worn out like the welcome that has become
our unwanted pest
Silently he asks “Have you seen my mother?”
We peek from fragile slits in blinds while his knocks go unanswered
Afraid that he will ask for what we cannot give this time
Within the molest of our possum’s play against neglected whiskers
The filthy cloak of those tip-toes he walks on, in and out of our lives
Bringing the surprise of midnight knocks
Perhaps bad news, upon our doors
Dreading them and the sight of him, we have muted his roar
Born Lion with a premature mane of grey
Shorn this branch from our family tree
My cousin, My mothers only sister’s son
The only child she carried in the womb of her beautiful glow
The energy and life she once was
Has been drained into a face so alike and unlike her own
She lay in a casket, transferred from a stretcher and she never returned
Her abandoned love passed out on the floor
Holding tight a pipe dream of the broken heart she died from
The only offspring she left is this lost son
He, whom we have shunned
Redundantly he still seeks her and cannot swell with pride
Leaving loveless scattered seeds turning on and up in his life
Choking on the smoke of apparitions and lies
Addictive cycles becoming nutrition
For the only love he’d ever cared to acknowledge
The only one he’d ever known
That love convulsed and died when he was 13 years old
He is need, and like the greed in which he seeks
The “mommy” within every woman he meets
This lost thing of a boy in lost man’s body
Connecting us to the cross of burnt bridges and our shunning
Miss Nissi '08
and shuffles through life in search of The Mother
MIA six months or more at a time
Whatever he feels is of value, one will surely miss
In the wake of his smooth departure
So much as attempting to blink
Against
Hands so quick giving meaning to his
Shifty eyes and crooked grin
Fashioned he has, a sort of pig Latin
A dialect of his own
which he mumbles with such a comical tongue
Watching his every move while he wrestles with the children
They love him
And the dirt gathered at his ankles
His ragged nails and the grime caked beneath them
All of which we have come to detest and look down our noses at
He turns his head, pretending not to notice
Even in triple-digit-degree summer heat
He dawns a huge, stale smoke scented coat
Worn out like the welcome that has become
our unwanted pest
Silently he asks “Have you seen my mother?”
We peek from fragile slits in blinds while his knocks go unanswered
Afraid that he will ask for what we cannot give this time
Within the molest of our possum’s play against neglected whiskers
The filthy cloak of those tip-toes he walks on, in and out of our lives
Bringing the surprise of midnight knocks
Perhaps bad news, upon our doors
Dreading them and the sight of him, we have muted his roar
Born Lion with a premature mane of grey
Shorn this branch from our family tree
My cousin, My mothers only sister’s son
The only child she carried in the womb of her beautiful glow
The energy and life she once was
Has been drained into a face so alike and unlike her own
She lay in a casket, transferred from a stretcher and she never returned
Her abandoned love passed out on the floor
Holding tight a pipe dream of the broken heart she died from
The only offspring she left is this lost son
He, whom we have shunned
Redundantly he still seeks her and cannot swell with pride
Leaving loveless scattered seeds turning on and up in his life
Choking on the smoke of apparitions and lies
Addictive cycles becoming nutrition
For the only love he’d ever cared to acknowledge
The only one he’d ever known
That love convulsed and died when he was 13 years old
He is need, and like the greed in which he seeks
The “mommy” within every woman he meets
This lost thing of a boy in lost man’s body
Connecting us to the cross of burnt bridges and our shunning
Miss Nissi '08
Add a Comment
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Comment by Miss Nissi on October 31, 2008 at 8:23pm -
Thank you, Sis... I am humbled and grateful to be a vessel in any way I can.
Blessings.
-
Comment by Virtuous on October 31, 2008 at 3:09pm - This piece was very moving..."V"
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