Elegy for the Abandoned Poem
Conceived in a white-hot
moment, it mewls for attention,
so you swaddle & tuck it
into a satiny fold, say you’ll
come back soon, let it cry itself
to a kind of silence that
doesn’t last, the fresh noise
of everyday crowding,
crowding
until you return to find it
gone. A moment of distraction
& you become that mother
racing through the mall, hysteria
ratcheting to aria, shrieking my baby,
my baby,
my baby,
while knowing
all you cared for is crossing
the border in another woman’s
arms. Every word you strung
together on a filament, delicate
as a bracelet around a newborn’s
wrist, fading like a face
you hardly knew
but are desperate
to recall.