Letter to my (broken) beloved

I knew you, from before
the moment you tottered

taking your first steps

toward your mama. 

I followed you, a 

bird perched on your 

shoulder, chirping

as you picked up

the scissors to cut your

hair yourself. Little 
hands trembling. 

I held you. By the 
arms, stopping you
pulling brows from
your face, only moments 
after your first fight 
with sweet Adele. 

I never left your side when

you immersed yourself in the

joyous pleasures of young 

adulthood. Waiting for you

to return home so I could stroke 

your hair, and wipe the expired 
mascara from beneath your eyes. 

Then, when you stumbled over

your own feet into your first 
true love I drew arcs over 

your head with my toes,
making a halo for you.You 
never needed to look up,

but I was always there. 

And I’ll be there - I am 
here - now that that love 
has morphed into nothing 
more than the withered root 
of an orchard still attached to

beautiful but

already dead blooms.