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Stumble into the middle of life, tired and faking your sway
of joy and merriment to stay.
Stay within bounds and smoothly let fly your curses
and eyes as they glare at blond curls bouncing on my shoulders
broad from bending over the kitchen table
and books where my blue eyes fixed themselves on books,
and then on the soft pink skin that rests beneath my lips.
You said it once to me, but she means it.
All humanity is cursed to wait for pain to bear us to the world
where we wait to be born again after already being born once.
This time with the ease of disappointment,
and the prospect of understanding strife.