I slept on a couch with my son.
7 months.. I reach out and touch
I feel the absent air in my grasp,
Waking up in the morning to my “sun.” The warmth is gone.
He’s not there, even if he wanted to be
Constant pain, as if that’s all I’m meant to see.
As I take a step my foot lands on a rock, i cry.
I trip and I stumble I call out his name.
As if it was his favourite toy.
But it wasn’t, I don’t know what that is anymore. I’m angry.
He’s a grown boy now mom,
Your grasp is strong; we’re both smothered.