family of separates

 I met him first.

he was alone, wandering on miniature unstable legs stomping clumsily. 

he did not seem to belong to anyone. 

for this, or for possibly a dozen other reasons that i have long pondered, i followed him. 

into the darkness of night, away from the celebrating people he led me. 

his mother was a statue of stone.

his father was a distant cowboy. 

years later,

i love the cowboy

and i pity the statue

but what i feel for the solitary child is beyond my understanding. 

i have resent for the way he must restrict my freedom and my future. (and knowing my history i wonder if i can endure it) 

i adore him for the ways he resembles his father. 

i have loved him inexplicably since i first held him. 

i feel responsibility to protect and nurture and guide and teach

and i have deep frustration for the constraints on the quality

i dream of providing. 

the cowboy has a vision

the statue has a vision

i have a vision

the child has a vision.

none of these visions agree. 

we are a family of separates

experimenting with sovereignty on a human soul.  

yet. 

i ask myself:

is this simply parenthood? 

inexplicable love. 

deep and constant frustration.

disillusionment. 

conflict. 

responsibility. 

there were toddler questions.

did i come from your belly?

are we a family? 

my answers explain little 

and nothing seems as true as that

we are a teaching circle

bound by love

leading one another through through life.