A poem about my son, who has autism with severe aggressions, on his 19th birthday |
| I dodge my son, my only child His rages uncontrolled. This tight in me, the Nth degree grown tired searching for the key (his fate no fortune could forsee) a mother's soul was sold. I live in fear, year after year The brave in me has died. The wrath of he, a guarantee grown vicious in an anti-glee (the opposite of being free) divinity defied. I steel my spine and very self The bend in me is gone. The soft in me, a yielding tree grown petrified with every plea (a tempest born of savage sea) predestiny redrawn. note ▶︎ |