Pain from the left,
pain from the right,
pain raining down
from morning 'til night.
Loss and abandonment
flood in from all sides --
no relief can be found,
sweet comfort now hides.
Tears blur the sun,
tears blur the sky,
tears blur the moon
yet sharpen mind's eye . . . . .
It was Baby's eye view, and
not "the stuff of dreams":
Industrial orange
on construction machines,
"forgotten about" orange on cold, hard steel,
sickly orange on side streets,
desolation so real.
Grown Baby cannot eat with"lost" alleys in her head . . .the "orange of desertion" brings the queasiness of dread.And yet it's always back there
in the side streets of her mind:
The thought of being alley-dumped
could make her crazy-blind.
Strength grows weaker
while grief grows stronger . . . . .
The heart must endure,
but oh, how much longer?
How Baby knew Desertion
is now impossible to know,
but the limbo of "feeling 'orange'"
is like an undertow:
No one for you,
no one there.
And if someone came,
he would not care.
No ending will this story have,
limping blindly on and on,
for no one, it seems, can pull out this thorn --
it never will be gone.
