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Bonding (a poem)


A beating heart made to cling

comfort warm silky, if but that proverbial hanger

enclosed by some fluff

a sock or synthetic fabric

a ribbon she wore in her hair

could fill the deep well carved by nature

never replenished by nurture

what happens to a child who has never been embraced

inside a parent’s heart or brain?

HarryHarlow3   Harlowmonkeys2

searching, always seeking meaning


the child knows he must belong

to something, to somebody

and yet

no one can come close

not close enough

to heal the cracking ache

the longing to belong

a long distance runner

always hope a rubber cement for

countless shattered illusions

the real bounces forward

and embraces the fractured heart

as a possible reality

that is acceptable

despite the dotted lines lying empty

in the family photo frame

no holiday dinners, no birthday cards

a lack of stories or memories to share

or someone with whom to share them

the lonely child is a stalwart adult




for out of life comes love


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