My mother is dead.
I was a good son.
My mother is gone.
I was in love with her.
My mother loved me.
She loved my brother more.
My mother hated me.
She had no one else to punish.
My mother ignored me.
My soul stretched all the way to God.
When I was a child, I had a problem.
I knew, with the naked knowing of youth,
I was queer, and would be all my life.
I also knew not to tell anyone.
Who would want to hear this?
Silence said: “Be silent.
Your desperation’s your own.”
I kept quiet, as best I could,
and walked quietly out of childhood.
Heroes and Householders by Steve Turtell