Dear one,
I’m sorry.
Your father’s broken up with me
and there’s nothing I can do.
Can’t you see that I’m crying, too?
I knew it was over,
but I stayed for you.
I’m sorry,
I hoped to make you real
and not just this figment of my imagination.
Yes, I see you, darling.
So clearly,
every last birthmark.
I hear your wails for “mommy”
as the image of you fades.
You hold out your baby hands
for me to hold you.
Are you a dying daydream,
or will you go on existing on some other plane?
Either way I mourn, as if you existed.