Momma's BoyA Poem by FamilyManThe secret of wood is this: it's warmer than you are now. Breathe in; I kiss the pale concrete of your skin, and lean into it but the flicker never comes; breathe out.
The truth about silk is this: you never had it so good. Breathe in; I comb my fingers through your brittle, black hair while my chest pumps fire; breathe out.
The secret of chairs is this: you've got more friends now that you're dead. Breathe in; I smile at these strangers, and shake their hands but you died alone and scared; breathe out.
The truth about your grave is this: it's too shallow to hold you. Breathe in; I help carry your coffin as we leave the church but I know you're not in it; breathe out.
The secret about us is this: I hated you for your limitations. Breathe in; I pray God forgives us both our foolishness because you deserved a better son; breathe out.
The truth about today is this: I live. Breathe in; I swallow hard and close my eyes and stand alone in the wet, green grass of home; breathe out. © 2009 FamilyManAuthor's Note
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