with him on a warm, sunny afternoon
in April. This was before Jim, his wife’s
breast cancer and my alcoholism. This was
before masks and distancing. It

was a model day back then. Boys playing
baseball in the field. A fly ball landed by
his heels. He picked it up and threw it back. I chewed
on a blade of grass. I don’t have days like that

now, not with him. Not with anyone. The
sun still shines a honey blossom. But I play dead
as a possum.  The grass is overgrown, as are
the memories. The boys in the field are now

men. And the only thing I lay on is my sofa. All I chew
is my lip. I’ll not let slip the cast on this broken scene -
was it real or a hibiscus? Whatever it is I'm its mistress.

of water
falling
from my eye
is because  
a leak’s in the ceiling
and it’s raining outside.

That drop
of liquid
trickling  
down my cheek
is a clogged duct
that I haven’t fixed
in a week.

That drop
of moisture
running
into my mouth
is just some sweat –
I’d been working out.

the ocean, unleashed
from the sandy den? Do you smell
the salt of the sea? Are the sand fleas
waltzing in the air?  Can you

hear the crashing waves
as you squirm and wiggle,
flapping those flippers? Are you
not afraid that you haven’t

slippers? It’s a hike
for a little guy that can fit
in the palm of my hand. And predators
are waiting above to scoop

you up in their mouths. Still, you forge on,
not looking back. And if you make it
to the water’s edge and a white cap has you

riding her back are you then free of
attack? The ocean is a deep, black world
of danger. And you my baby,
are a stranger.

and fly with the crows
don’t waste time hobnobbing
with those that parrot
what they hear
and then drop bombs
like pigeons

sitting on my windowpane. I strain
to see him. He can fly
into that azure sky. But I can’t
touch his feathers. He only sits
as a stick.

Yesterday’s a bird
that flew. He was there! I saw
him square as my window. Now
he’s a billow.

Today’s a bird
in my hand. He takes
as I give him. And if I’m
sure of myself –
sure as the snow melts
on the late spring grass
I’ll know if I should
steady my hand
or wave my arm
like a flag at half-staff

And I don’t say that
just because I gave birth
to him. Even his birth was
fine. I delivered him in ten

minutes time, no medication
no complications. There wasn’t
a “time-out” as a child. He smiled
and followed every rule. The teachers

loved him at school. He put himself
through college. And spent all his free hours
helping other men and woman that had
problems. I gazed up at him with

awe. And I can say with certainty
he is the best creation that I’ve
released into this bleak world. And if
I die tonight, without anything of

my own right, I die proud
to be this man’s mother. To see him
from cradle to walking across
a stage handed his degrees. And to

thank him for teaching me
all the beauty that comes from
giving of yourself. And that living
is thinking about somebody else.

so, the acidic can stick
to it as the glaze on
a donut. And it’ll not come off
like Aunt Helen’s lipstick

that she smears with
every kiss, as she pinches
your cheek so hard you’re flapping like
clothes on the line drying in the sun. After she

stops she pokes you in the chest to check
if your buds have blossomed, And old
grandpa Angelo pats your bottom,
smoothly with his hand. He stirs as the spoon

in your mother's sauce. As he smacks his
lips you toss your bangs back and forth as if
their racing, like some kinda sport. You feed
the grown-ups with crooked smiles

and batting eyelashes, holding
your tongue, gritting your teeth
and twitching your thumb. You nail
the performance with bravo. And count
the seconds till they go!