On hearing a baby cry
I lost myself on myself
60 years ago, the horror
I was born knowing,
Knowing existence is brutal,
Thoughts chaotic; hate and
Desperation, all I knew.
Somehow I got Memory,
And I knew this wasn’t right.
I would stand out in the mallows
And cow pastures, arms and eyes
Opened wide, crying, praying:
“God, why am I here?
Why did You put me here?
This is the wrong house.
I don’t know these people.
I don’t belong here.
They don’t want me.
Who am I?”
Then I’d shudder and walk
Back to the house hoping
No one, except God, heard me.
Prayers at 4
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