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summer steals our children
Sorting clothes, still good but too small, he has grown.
His feet are bigger than mine. I wanted to slap my son today
for his fresh mouth, his ignorant use of my beloved language.
What he has borrowed is foul, slurs, cuts and drags.
I almost did, my hand itching to have its way, snatched
at towels, at jeans, socks and t-shirts. Angered
that this was so ingrained, I threw them over the banister,
watched as they draped in 12 yr old shapes on the couch.
He laughed, but I could'nt see what was funny. Dizzy,
clutching what I had left, I sat hard on the stairs, frowned.
Blue pajamas, flannel, the legs tattered, the butt worn.
They fit last year, but now are too short. He has won.
It was realizing I had looked straight into his eyes, standing
very close, almost nose to nose. Those eyes, challenging
then tears, filling up. Grow up! I had screamed, God-damn-it,
grow-up! I've never wanted to take anything back so much.
He has taken that shocked boy laughter,
locked it inside his room. He is hiding in there
with his pens and colored pencils, drawing.
His beautiful Japanese heroes flinging their mothers
from the tops of Gothic skyscrapers.
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 Life's Home |
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Coleen Shin  |
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