Confession

For my sigh of exasperation for the harshness of my glance the raised and rigid voice end-of-evening, red-wine-fueled impatience for the sharpness of my eyes which you must come to fear that harden under furrowed brows for the tense silence and clenching of muscles

for the sarcastic word, a fugitive

that flies from my brutal hole

with speed and ferocity

an escaped bird

before I can corner it, fluttering

and seduce it back to its cage

to join the other swallowed words

the ones that all mothers bury within their bodies

for when I lack softness, steadiness

compassion

for the moments when my hand

should have caressed your smooth shoulders

comforting you

but remained obstinately limp

when I forget

that you are tired

and little

and came on this earth only recently

when I fail to remember

that you are a treasure

a jewel that formed

in the tender cave of my belly

that you and I were once one

for the days

when I do not call you what you are:

beloved

my little boy

the dove that fluttered inside me

your limbs of honey and milk and flesh

tiny and trembling encompassed in my sea

I possess the most terrible power

the power to harm you

with the absence of my love

for this, my darling

forgive me