Magma

i don’t want to be this parent
but sometimes the anger boils up
and overflows, spewing ash
that blocks my love for you

it’s still there (the love), hot
magma in the depths of my
hollowed out mountain, but
it’s a slow and heavy river.

you are asleep by the time
the ash settles, gray streaks
of its tiny particles on your cheeks,
and i will not wake you.

the clouds are slow and heavy at dawn,
mimicking my magma as you wake
and i take you into the hollow,
wrapping you in the warmth of my love.

Greener Pastures

you are not what i thought
and it’s tearing me up
though for once i won’t
say a word about it

but i am disappointed
having to come home this way
trying to shed the mood
that infiltrates my daughter

her exhausted screams
echo through the house
so that i cannot hear
the others’ gurgling happiness

in my soul i reach for her
but my hands, my arms are here
because i’m burned right now
and she’ll sizzle at my touch.

it’s not you, but my blindness,
my greener pastures journey
that has led me right back to
where i never wanted to be again.

as if she knows this, she calls out
in panting gasps, searching for
an answer, a reason, that neither
of us will ever be able to find.