March 1, 2006

Pain

The process is working on me.    It's working in me.
I feel love coming through   and clearing more pain.
I feel very sad about my son tonight.   He's lonely.
I keep asking him how he feels. How do you feel now?
He usually says, "Happy."              Always happy.
Yesterday he said,        "Happy, but bits are sad."
He said it's because    there are boxes in my house.
I think he knows that I'm going away;   leaving him.
I'm going to miss being with him     as he grows up.
Even now, I am not there with him.      He needs me.
But I need to live my life too.    I can't be there.
I keep being given these hard choices;      so hard.
The pain in my chest is a broken bottle;    cuts me.
It's like a wall you can't climb over;  sharp metal.
But it's climbing over me.  And I'm not stopping it.
It's so much about my pain and my father,   not him.
There's a sweetness to this pain.        It's alive.
I want to let it teach me something    I don't know.