Late thoughts: the real meaning of parental love

it was all you ever did. discuss.
you never reached a conclusion, never
DID anything. just chewed over
a cycle of matter, that only brought
anger to my mind, tears to my thoughts.
you made a small girl cry, a girl who
sat alone and listened, and wished,
and listened. and cried.
she didn't want to feel this dissension;
the unfolding of disharmony that
blossomed only into glowering words
and wicked shapes. she wanted love.
but you were too busy at that
moment: 'discussing'.
it's only now, now,
that I see all that you endlessly
debated, in mutiny, in
that fierce, spitting discord,
was for my sake - in order to
prevent two trains from passing
each other without thought
for where they were going,
or what would become of their passengers.
instead you stopped at the junction,
discussing the route, the tracks,
the bridges left to cross,
and the stations where passengers could rest assured.
it was all for a small girl's sake,
a small girl, whom,
behind your disagreeable warfare
unanimously loved.