I wonder if you thought, when you were
young
and bobbed your hair and smoked,
that living would be easy and babies fun
and time a slow progression
of qualities of happiness, each deeper
than the last; the past
a gray expanse of desert you danced through
to blue waters where
the playful waves dashed back an image
of your self upon you,
new combinations breaking up the patterns
of the serious individual.
I wonder if you thought, when I was born
and bubbled fatly in your arms,
the love you lavished in my eyes
would always be anchored
hard inside, rich payment for the anatomies
I made your maidenhood;
that love was enough and more than enough
to make a person free;
that this was the beautifully simple plan
your parents never knew
who had rules but never the golden rule,
so free and easy.
I wonder if you thought, when you saw me
kissing my three children,
they too would someday break my heart,
who loves them as you did me,
who knows living is harder work than love,
and time a swift transgression
of the tiniest joys of life, each smaller
than the last; the past
a faded photograph, found in a purse
cluttered with greasy cash
and the regulated patterns of the day
of the serious individual.
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