He was still yours when they took him down.
You saw him staring back
through that bug eyed monster,
twisted by the drop.
Somewhere in there
was your beloved son.
There was still a hint of the babe who’d
suckled at your breast,
his fragile milky breath placing
a marker on your soul.
You built him a fortress
and made a mother’s promise.
For seventeen years he was a force,
a restless hurricane.
Always empty, never full.
Your life was his.
His pleasure was yours
and your love was elastic.
Now he lies here, still at last.
Is this your boy?
He, whose every movement
you could second guess.
Or is it someone else, a stranger?
Someone you almost knew.
