Craving For Baby Stars
Children growing old and fading
innocence shattered with the curse of abandon
frozen between the first stage
of a baby's breath and navel,
desperate to live in real homes
after years of return and exchange
thrown from garbage to luggage…
foster home mother,
unit mother,
nun mother,
volunteer mother…
what’s a mother?
And I watch broken toddlers come and go
some small, a few tall, others weak,
most climbing inside tears or curling inside fire
nonetheless, they are all the same...
they just want to be loved as normal kids;
and I feel how they crave to belong
in a nest of stars without love’s regret.
I cradle their dreams with healing balm
pouring grains of future's summer dreams,
as I watch them come and go:
these, my “children” fly with kindling hope
playing as if to forget the numbness of dragged pain
steady still in the passing of riddled uncertainty…
"When will you come back?"
"Am I pretty or not?"
"Will my nightmares stop?"
And I watch broken toddlers come and go
changing, always changing my own truth…
Oh there’s so much more I need to accept,
for I can never have one of them as mine
being single and mostly alone ,
like these children... wanting a family.
.........................
For the toddlers of an orphanage where
I volunteer as a counselor.
...............................
The Poet's Ache Contest / Sponsor: Greg Barden
Re- submitted 8/1/2017
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