Ago

I'll never forget the torment I endured
when I left you on the sidewalk,
reaching for me with all but your hands.
Did you know my soul mirrored yours,
reaching and grasping at the growing space between us
and willing my handcuffs to break?
Could you see it in my eyes?

And when they sent me to an institution
to teach me to be human
and to force me to be civilized,
I never forgot you.
I wrote your name just to see it,
so I could believe you had been real.
Nevertheless, I learned my lessons.

But deep inside me, I was wilder than rules and boundaries
could ever teach me to overcome.
Soon, my soul told me it could not inhabit a body
that would not listen to its yearning,
and would not heed its tears.
I went to you one morning.
I found you in the sunlight, as if you were awaiting my arrival.

I still remember how you saw me
and we stood still before one another,
because our hearts trembled,
and because beneath my shirt my stomach was swollen
with the miracle of life.
You finally reached for me with your hands,
and you held me as if to apologize.

That was a year and a half ago.
But I have not forgotten you at all.
My soul still lashes at me, contemptuous because I'm calm.
It strains against my body.
It is still handcuffed inside me, begging to see you again,
reminding me of the day you felt the baby kick, your hand on my side.
To this day, I cannot hush my soul, but I hush the baby boy to sleep.

Somewhere in this city,
I know you think of me on occasion.
I know you remember the day you saw me,
pregnant and miserable.
I know you fight to suppress the flashback of emotions you feel.
Mixed feelings, wondering if the fault was yours.