Clawing at the Margins

My need to hear,

why I’m loved,

is a need,

at once

understandable

and sometimes 

irritatingly demanding,

clawing at the margins,

waiting for words,

that assuage

and convince.

 

For there they were,

parents of talent

and brains,

themselves in need,

of things in the margins.

Five daughters,

getting bits

and pieces,

and, yes,

talent and brains.

 

And a river of love,

that we could see,

and sometimes drink from,

but could never be certain,

of its depths.

Photo: Leigh Pumilia