Missing You

They scattered you
on a rose bed
reserved for babies;

I wasn't there.
That's what they did
back in the swinging 60s

when I was young
but not swinging,
my womb heaving

as you fought your
way out, protesting when
they cut you from me.

But now you
have been so long dead,
I wonder were you

ever alive long enough
for me to call you son.
I know that I held you

and loved you for
oh such a brief time,
before they took you away

and fed you to the roses,
leaving me empty
but for my weeping

breasts. And now I no
longer recall your face,
your hair, your new

baby skin - you have
been so long dead
there is only the pain

of never knowing you,
forever missing you -
my son, my son.