{ --- }

i may only ever attend the happy ceremonies of other people.
i may only ever be a fake aunt to the children of my friends.
i may only ever have myself to look after.

i don't know why it struck me tonight, as i walked through the door of this dark empty house thinking about what i was going to make myself for dinner. it wasn't the big sharp ticking of my biological clock --- i haven't suddenly been overrun with maternal inclinations. no, it was the ache of having lost something i never had --- a shudder of regret over something i never gave up.

i may be a dead end for my father's family name.
all the tributaries and bloodlines that map my body and self
may reach their cracked and desert deaths in me.
there may be no legacy for me.
and not just for me, but for my parents ---
all they invested in me may be wasted,
truncated, burned out when i go. when i die.
when i pass from this world
not having shared love with a man,
not having drawn life from my body,
not having taken the gentle coins of effort
my mom and dad placed in my soul
and placed them the best i could
in the soul of my own child.

i may only ever be alone.
i may only ever hold those coins,
warm and comforting in my own fist.
i may only ever be me.

is it enough?
am i enough?
is it enough?
is it?
please.
let me be enough.