The Child Is Gone

I wondered if there was something inside me you needed.
Not just physical,
but something beyond needing to touch me.

I wondered if you ever just wanted to split me at my back,
pour into my inner insides and find

what is it you lacked in yourself.
I think you just became further lost in your pursuit.

No amount of touch was ever going to mend
all the broken you held inside.

Back then I wondered about how you wondered about me.
Now I wonder about you,

about where all you’ve continued your search.
What rooms you occupy.
What corners you lurk in and whose bed
you creep into at night.

Do you still tiptoe hobble through houses at midnight?
Do you still search for the child that reminds you of you?

Do you still peek your head into the windows
that boggle you?

When you hear that songbird
does it still rip you apart?

Sarah Frances Moran was born and raised in Houston, Texas. Her aim is to poetically fight for love and harness the type of tender violence needed to push love forward. She strongly believes that words have immeasurable power.

She is the founder/editor of Yellow Chair Review, whose inaugural issue was released in May 2015. Her work has appeared in Black Heart Magazine, Foliate Oak, Sediments Literary-Arts Journal, Catching Calliope, Silver Birch Press, Elephant Journal, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Digital Papercut, Harbinger Asylum and Boston Poetry Magazine. You may reach her at

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