"The Truth Tonight..."

Tonight, I am sick and utterly alone... This is not a first for me, but in my prayers, I hoped it might be a last for me. As I lay next to where he once laid his head, I am tired and reminded of a long poem I know. This is just a part of it... but even though it's not about me, it is:

From
"Having It Out With Melancholy"
By Jane Kenyon

FROM THE NURSERY

When I was born, you waited
behind a pile of linen in the nursery,
and when we were alone, you lay down
on top of me, pressing
the bile of desolation into every pore.

And from that day on
everything under the sun and moon
made me sad — even the yellow
wooden beads that slid and spun
along a spindle on my crib.

You taught me to exist without gratitude.
You ruined my manners toward God:
“We’re here simply to wait for death;
the pleasures of earth are overrated.”

I only appeared to belong to my mother,
to live among blocks and cotton undershirts
with snaps; among red tin lunch boxes
and report cards in ugly brown slipcases.
I was already yours — the anti-urge,
the mutilator of souls.

For me, since he's not here.