By dean friedman
In the hollow of your arms, snuggled up all safe and warn,
You used to tell me tales of unicorns and kings.
But how could i comprehend all the things you told me then
Of your madness and your struggling?
And my mind would swim in fantasies, like a piece of driftwood in the sea.
I had no touchstone for reality. you were my reality.
Like a dark and unlit room or the far side of the moon,
Your insanity spoke emptiness and fear.
And no matter how i tried, how i questioned and i pried,
I just could not penetrate that thin veneer.
And i know you tried to comfort me, to soothe and reassure me.
But then your strength would always fail and in it’s place a silken veil.
Like a dried and wrinkled prune, a deflated toy balloon,
I cam home and found you strewn across the floor.
And as they lay you on your bed i heard you say,
"if i a dead, how come it just keeps on hurting more and more?"
And you left me in the early spring. all they said was, "mommy’s resting."
And how was i to know, so young, it wasn’t something i had done?
So please try and understand, i will love you as i can.
I do not blame you; you’re not guilty.
But still there’s no way to describe the relief i finally found
Upon learning it was you, and not me, that was crazy.