This World

This World

Such an odd mommy.

The Boxer, my lullaby for you,

"The whores on Seventh Avenue"

Rang loud and clear,

Your ears not censored from the cradle -

It was good music;

A bittersweet song for my strong little boy,

Struggling and overcoming,

It was perfect

For this world.

In these heavy-lidded moments I'd envision

Our talks of Kant and Socrates,

The nature of reality,

Politics and philosophy -

Contemplation of the higher things

And the joy it brings

In this world.

But somewhere along the way

The rules changed,

I could no longer be the strange

Mommy with the folk lyric tongue

And her face towards the sun -

I had to be the stronger one,

More practical than intended,

And finally I surrendered to

This new world.

And, as consolation I was told

Teen-aged boys dont really hold that kind

Of conversation with their mothers

In the real world.

Yet they were only ever fantasies,

Like the two of us,

Just fantasies,

Ephemeral and out of place

In this world.

~Darkling Plain, Aug. 24, 2006