#38 · Feb 22, 2008The Bleeding Hearts
I sit by your aunt's garden, the bleeding hearts, row on row,
Some pink,some white, summery, like your hair,
Some red, like the blood they're named after,
The lifeblood you no longer make for yourself, but take.
They say a drooping flower like this is bad luck,
Fine in the garden, but never in the house,
Bringing you, my oldest child, into anyone's home,
Is certainly bad luck for them now.
The leaves of bleeding heart are complicated,
You weren't; a silly, shallow, self-centered girl,
Like I'd been, and if you were meaner,
It was your father's fault, and mine,
I thought you'd age out of it, like I had,
And now you can't, you'll stay a spoiled teen,
For how long, centuries perhaps?
My poor, dead, little girl, I can't even bury you,
Because you're walking and talking,
Your father and sister think we'll find you someday,
They don't know how bad that would be,
Your brother thinks you're only dead, but never,
Admits it out loud, I almost wish he were right.
Bleeding heart comes from Japan, the Land of that Rising Sun,
Which you can never see again,
Not that you got up that early when you were alive,
My baby, my first-born, will you ever call me \"Mom\" again?
Will I ever hold you in my arms again?
And if I did,
Would you feed on me?
Last time we talked, you told me you would, because,
That's where love goes for a vampire, and,
That's one reason you don't want to see us,
The bleeding hearts, the beating hearts,
That stop, so you can live,
I hate what you are now,
But I still love you, my girl.