When you were six months old, your father left.
It wasn’t his idea, and my belief
that you were too unformed to feel bereft,
was wrong – you just lacked language for your grief.
When you were almost three, my body burst
apart inside, and I was pulled from you.
The others cared but didn’t put you first
as you deserved: adults without a clue.
We sent you then from home to baby school
and you, beyond frustrated, grew so mad
it boggled all of us. I’m such a fool –
for I was blind the way I missed how sad
and gross a load we laid on your brave soul –
but you’re a hero, and you’ve grown up whole.