I think I can finally urge myself not to think too much-
I’ll listen to Mozart and watch birds eat from my terrace.
I’ll hug my son & thank God
that he is healthy & safe. A boy of compassion
with a humanitarian flare & this hunger to save
all those desolate. (I was once that way, before
I became so needy, so broken apart) But lose
me in the clouds now & rise him toward the
atmosphere of promised stars & well-spent days.
Please, God. Give him a chance.
May 31, 2013
Plastic army men, gray, blue, green
Lined up in the living room for years.
When his father wondered
At the lack of my complaint over the mess,
I said: “Because one day I know I’ll miss it.”
That day has come & gone.
I imagine the little boy next door,
who my son gave up his collection to,
Lining them up along windowsills & on top
of old shoe-boxes.
One time, years ago, I designed an army fort for my son
out of an old shoe-box. Drew carefully the camouflage
to protect his childhood, to construct smiles.
I made windows
& gun racks & even a helipad on top,
meant for plastic emergencies.
His eyes lit up like sunshine
Reflecting off dark waves & he said:
“Thank you, mama. That’s really cool!”
I must say, it was one of my finer
accomplishments in life-
& now as the years turn & frown with their
Sad mistakes & losses, at least I can recall
Through some certain, tender, beautiful years,
I gave those soldiers a home. Or tried.
May 31, 2013
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