”I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”
To a child who only knows life
And distant lessons of death.
A boy learning to builds walls
Out of plastic bricks—
Defending against feelings.

”I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”
To the one who falls asleep
Next to the voiceless dog
As it's quiet breath whispers
Instinct and unknowing—
Young ears open to all things.

”I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”
To the son who knows no difference.
Climbing to the tendriled top
Of his trusted tree friend.
Swaying in what was real—
Falling and the warm Midwest wind.