herbavore
Bluelight Crew
When my son told me
his terrible truth, it flew
out of his mouth,
a bird
frantic
urgent,
a clatter of feathers
that began to hurl
its tiny body against
the silent square of light
that was the window we
sat in front of, not quite
turned towards
each other, but
almost.
I let my breath out slowly
not wanting
to frighten him
or the bird,
I said,"Why
didn't you tell me?
I would have
listened."
"You could not have listened" he said
"to what I couldn't say."
Outside, the afternoon
lowered her gaze and
citrine light
poured in
on our faces
and the shadow that
the little bird
cast,
as it beat and beat against
that day,
fluttered like a kiss,
the kind of kiss a mother gives,
over and over
to her baby's
cheek.
his terrible truth, it flew
out of his mouth,
a bird
frantic
urgent,
a clatter of feathers
that began to hurl
its tiny body against
the silent square of light
that was the window we
sat in front of, not quite
turned towards
each other, but
almost.
I let my breath out slowly
not wanting
to frighten him
or the bird,
I said,"Why
didn't you tell me?
I would have
listened."
"You could not have listened" he said
"to what I couldn't say."
Outside, the afternoon
lowered her gaze and
citrine light
poured in
on our faces
and the shadow that
the little bird
cast,
as it beat and beat against
that day,
fluttered like a kiss,
the kind of kiss a mother gives,
over and over
to her baby's
cheek.
