You are not my own
Yet I held myself
When I held you.
Stars freckle your sky face
Freckled like your mother
That which I do not share.
Nor do I have
Your turned-up nose.
Your azure eyes
We all have.
Light on a torch
Your mother's eyes
Your grandmother's eyes
Your great-grandmother's eyes
(whose I still see so clearly)
The light she carried from others who said
"Bonjour" and "Au demain"
"Ferme la porte!" and "Je t'aime!"
Thoughts and images fill my head but don't connect
to the words and phrases that would
leave my mouth and connect me to you.
So I sit, a cavern of mirrors,
reflecting my thoughts onto myself,
and only myself.
My arms fold against my chest and start
the forever inward folding,
away from you, away from what I want.
I look like an asshole when the words elude me.
My forged bravery is a sham, and
I am now all alone in this room.