(Response to Dear Little Self Whose Mother Didn’t Love You)

 

I called for you one night.

You didn’t come.

I couldn’t come to you

because of the man with a knife

who was in my bedroom door.

He was real enough to me.

 

I called and called.

At last you came.

You were angry at being awakened.

You let me sleep the rest of the night

with you.

I needed the comfort of your arms,

your voice.

You turned your back to me

and said nothing.

 

At least the dream-man

couldn’t get me there.