
I’ve lost a son
in the sea of ideas –
yet, while I weep here,
along the shore
for he, who is no more –
they emerge exactly
as they were meant to be.
She.
I’ve lost a son
in the sea of ideas –
yet, while I weep here,
along the shore
for he, who is no more –
they emerge exactly
as they were meant to be.
She.
I remember: the middle school dance, being punch drunk and girl silly and when the DJ finally played a slow song, the desperation not to be on the outside looking in, but to have somehow managed the trust in the scramble of two hundred teens, that when the speakers were belting out forever yours, grateful not to end up on the bleachers, but to go skin to skin.