Twenty years now since it was begun
That new life of me set free from me.
That was the genesis of him the exodus of her
Behind my face my mother is,
The skin on my hand, it’s veins,
Making ridges like railways , my father’s arms.
How I grow more like them, the fusion of three
That’s me. Of him in me were many years,
come fear, come confusion, mourning and evening,
Beatings and weeping.
Those quiet strolls at even, sharing his misery..
Our limited access to the inside of her,
Tell us when you were a little girl?
Stories and tales of whales and joy,
Where she worked at 16, much more I would have remembered.
And dad, relocating, with high tales of War, of bombers and Cologne , Prisoners of war,
Having cockroach races in the engine, in the rain.
64 years am I, the three of us. The one of me.
A revelation ,conceived, gestated,
The genesis of him the exodus of her.
Andrew James Blair March 6 /2018