I fixed my happiness on it,
stamped my seal on the forehead
of a child to be born decades from that moment,
a child whose existence would solidify my own,
give weight and mortar to the ruins
my parents made of me.
But I would do it right.
I’d play my role dressed all in blue,
sigh slightly at misdoings
and know the quiet calmness
that comes from an indissoluble link,
an anchor firmly sunk into the breast of another.
When was the decision made?
the heart obscured to determine
true peace would be possible
only in the possession of a cradle,
the clinging to a title far too easily earned
that so often rends its holders invisible.
I am the wheel and rudders of this vessel,
and a turn from domesticity
should not disturb the waters
under this boundless fleet.
It it does, I must trouble those seasick wayfarers
to ask themselves
how my taking leave from their race
impacts their journey,
other than to remind them uncomfortably
of their ability to choose?