amphibi.us

All day the small
boy I love enters manhood.  Grows muscles.  Outlives the burdens of
drugs and heart break.
Soon he will outlive the birds, outlive the
limbs supporting the birds, outlive me, his mother, a storm-worn dove.

The small boy I love, wrung from silence, finds his own voice.  Sings
from his own self the transparencies of others
with the candor of a
child beyond the miseries of adulthood.  The small boy I love arches the
hours, speaks in rivulets
sparkling gold and silver.  Every ordinary
morning, the small boy I love leaves like a train departing a station.

The poem I write reads like a mother, frantic and theatrical, white
scarf waving in the open air.

© Lisa Zaran, 2011