If I Could by Melissa Lemay

Image| Engin Akyurt 

If I Could 

Dear Child,

 

If I could be there for you in your time of need,

I would. But I can’t go back in time. 

 

I would notice all the scars hidden underneath

you couldn’t speak. I would enfold you, let you

 

know it will all be okay. I would take all those

bad memories and erase them, making room

 

for joy and peace instead. I would give you

a bigger heart, and less room for holding pain.

 

I would instill quiet and stillness deep within,

replacing darkness and depravity and the sin

 

of man. I would make love more effective

at filling in all the blank spaces. If I could. 

 

I wouldn’t lose you at the seashore, or

leave you sitting alone in the truck outside the

 

store. I would soothe the panic stricken system

you were presented, as an unwanted gift you

 

couldn’t return.  If I could, I would listen to

all your stories, your adventures, your sadness,

 

you telling me about your day. I would come

to every swim meet, or at least one. 

 

If I could, I would be your friend, so you

didn’t have to invent them, playing pretend

 

waitress, with a pen and a pad, writing down

orders from no one. I would not be always

 

rushing off or coming home from places;

instead of creating and planning for gaps,

 

I would fill them in. I would acknowledge

your achievements; more importantly, I would

 

acknowledge your heart that beats outside

so loudly it is never quiet. I would play cards

 

with you whenever you asked, and I would

thank God you wanted me around. If I could. 

 

I would put together all the pieces, and at least

I’d teach you, how to make repairs when they

 

fell apart. I would build your self-esteem

and teach you that the most important

 

things in life never come undone. I would sit

outside on the roof with you and look up

 

at the stars, instead of screaming at you

to get down. I would never put my hand

 

around your throat and slam you against 

the wall. I would not think to do that if I could. 

 

I would help you learn patience, instead of

helping you learn that people never come

 

back. Hopefully you wouldn’t grow up so

anxious, always afraid of being left behind,

 

never trusting anyone, because I know what

that is like. And when you attempted suicide

 

at age 13, and your friend phoned me, emergent,

to let me know, I would not complain about 

 

the ambulance, “now I’m going to have to

pay for that”. 

 

If I could. I would give you a bigger heart, 

and I would do whatever I could to not

 

rip it apart.

© Melissa Lemay

Melissa Lemay

Melissa Lemay lives in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, with her children, cats, and dog. She writes about God, addiction, trauma, healing, motherhood, and many other things. She enjoys spending time with family, drinking good coffee, and being outdoors. She loves animals. Her poem, “Ephemeral”, was chosen as Poetic Publication of the Year for 2023 at Spillwords Press; she was Author of the Month for July 2024 and Author of the Year for 2024. Find her at melissalemay.wordpress, collaborature.blogspot, and at dVerse Poets Pub. 

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