Thursday, March 18, 2021

My teen boy moans......

 Our teen boy claims:

 On the hour his handsome face 

droops below its perfect bone line,

he will kill himself--


so unable to bear life 

without glacier taut skin--without 

the tangled dark hedges

thickening head to limb. 


It would have been easy 

to fall on my knees in tears

to recal my own youth, 

when the cells of this body


loaded up like bee hives 

with clear honey,

when my own eyes beamed 

from stars within, 


not yet being a moist-eyed widow 

staring out from heaps of stones 

lathered in froth along the shore--

not yet sitting like a living memorial 


with a fault line carved 

on my heart--without 

this fierce longing

to blend with the lavender 


of sky and sea,

all sadness gone 

from this throat.

But the feeing passes. 


This boy, this figure of beauty, 

believes one day he 

will will smash himself

against the kitchen wall 


like an empty wine bottle.

 Oh Just wait, I tell him,

Watch how long--with what heart-- 

your shaky hand clasps that bottle.