he sits across from me, his torso anyway
a sprained ankle rests on the bench beside me
where we have sat so many years, he and me,
on me, beside me, across me, blurred boundaries
of mother and son who started as one after all,
sharing morning sickness, did he throw up too
or laugh inside at his power before arrival, now
having grown from microns to meters, from fuzzball
to curly haired wonder, he’s 25 after all.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment