You break my heart, with your memories. Why, when we’re young
we’re so eager to smash the family portrait, only to weep
with longing when the years have taught us what is precious
and worthy of yearning for? They could have been
the worst you’d ever known, but when they are gone
you cry like a baby. They shunned, they judged, they hurt you
but sometime upon a night, bleeding in a wee hour of the morning, alone
with your festering wound, you cry.