The Tears I've Cried in Malta

The tears I've cried in Malta

are bittersweet.

I've tasted them
on the tip of my tongue,
at the corner of my mouth,
while sobbing.

I found myself in solitude again.

No hand to hold.
No lips to kiss.
No arms to embrace.
No shoulder to cry on.

So I cried into my fists.

All the while, creating life.

The moments before the greatest arrivals
are marked by rupture,
fracture,
and breakage.

What should have been the fruit of our love
cracked us apart.

The tears I've cried in Barakka Gardens
taste of salt and sorrow.

A sorrow I should have never known.

Especially now.
Especially here.

A monument to new beginnings.

Indeed

but not the one I had imagined.

And perhaps, when I grow old,

I will return to the same bench

where my solitude began.

But at least now, I have you,

whose only love, you know,

is mine.

And after the years have passed,

you too will grow beyond my arms,

and I will lose it all.