My Little Boy

MY LITTLE BOY by JOHN M. ARRIBAS Its so hard for me to accept and understand Why fate dealt me such an unpleasant hand I was perfectly happy as a household companion I never had a cause of my own to boost or to champion Then after nearly forty years I began to feel alone I realized I hadn’t any emotions I could call my own I’ve lived a quiet , uneventful and solitary life At my age, I should have been someone’s wife I’ve been tending and caring for the offspring of others I should have been raising my own: sisters and brothers I decided in spite of my age, I would search for a mate I joined a several clubs and started to date I met a man quite handsome and debonaire I was sure with this man, my life I could share We were married, for me the happiest of time Being held and wanted was a feeling sublime I found my self at the age of thirty eight Ecstatically happy in a maternal state After six months I delivered a premature boy He was so little he looked more like a toy But from the beginning we knew something amiss Sporadic outbursts and noises we couldn’t dismiss He was having trouble sleeping through the night A series of tests showed he’d never be right A consensus dully confirmed by medical teams A dreadful prognosis, that injured my dreams His mental projection is that of a ten year old He’ll never function without parental control My husband insisted it was due to my corrupt DNA That’s the excuse he used to justify his running away My little boy (2) I’m nearly sixty now yet my son is still nine He’ll always be a child no matter the time Who will tend to him when I pass away Why do I feel so guilty that he’s still here today I’m a prisoner sentenced to life without parole The only crime I’ve committed are the thoughts in my soul I’m so confused by this yoyoing of yes and no I want to care for him always, but I want him to go My life is lifeless a woman in a child’s world My banner as a woman has never unfurled This task will yoke us til I rest in the tomb From this unending onus conceived in my womb I need for an object to crash through the air And do us both or either, I really don’t care To have such thoughts is evil, selfish and wrong I cant tell the difference between a sob and a song There are times when he’s caring and cuddly warm Then swearing and raging in a violet storm At the end of the day when he’s asleep in his bed Fantasies of what ifs are conjured up in my head I’m not alone in stoking and fanning wanton desires Those wonderful outcomes burning from unlit fires My romantic dreams are sometimes suddenly broken By his yelling and ranting and garbled words spoken His out bursts may come without any warning Not even he knows when his demons are storming There are heartwarming times when he sneaks up on me Puts his head on my breast and says “I love you mommy” Most mothers have children that go on their way But my little boy has been ordained to stay