Despite my worries, anger, and dismay,
I’m grateful for one thing this afternoon:
She had the sense to pick a sunny day.
I can resume my journey fairly soon.
But what’s the point? If I do what I would,
the chance that I might find her is remote,
and if I do, can I do any good?
Or will my weight just help to sink her boat?
Do I go on because I am concerned
about the perils ’52 might find,
or has my motive somehow gotten turned?
Has mere momentum mesmerized my mind?
No, I’m in charge of my internal drive.
My mission doesn’t mold me to its taste.
To do that, it would have to be alive,
while neither silicon- nor carbon-based.
I’m simply doing what a mother ought
when faced with losing all the love she’s known,
and that’s why ’52 suspected not:
She’s never had a daughter of her own.
But she will soon—oh, what have I allowed?
Would she have stayed if I had been more stern?
Dear One, if she is yet beneath your cloud,
please help me to persuade her to return.
©2010 Louis A. Merrimac
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