THE POST REMAINS
a poem by Lee Kierig
A living thing won't; without apprehended need.
Our mother needs.
The children, save one, cannot sustain her.
Unguarded is the post,
Unattained; Beckoning; The post yet remains,
For the child, of forty-six, uncares.
And yet, she waits.
Some, in the child, demonstrate,
But collective self cognition remains at sea.
And as the post remains,
So does the creeping.
In its thievery, the unheeded grazes our mother's vulnerability.
Quietly, she weeps,
She is loathe to burden the child.
Skip the chore of watching,
At the post.
Time calls to our mother and tells of her giving.
Completely she gives to all her children,
To the one, she gives all completely.
And so time calls to tell.
Ashamed in our presence,
She is abused and her wounds unattended.
In want to heal, she mourns the post-
That remains uncalled.
Partings afflict the collective child,
And so there is none.
Interminably destitute in the wasteland of empty promises,
As wide as the gaping wounds afflicting her dignity,
Our mother waits.
But as the child is very young,
Some awaken from the sleep of oppression,
not knowing the power of liberty,
Confused about responsibility,
Living freely unto its mother's gifts,
The child gathers.
Moreness, not infinite,
Fruits not re-made,
Her stores growing bare,
as the post remains...
So does her waiting.
Lee Kierig - '94 ©