NaPoWriMo, Day 13

After a looooong day, this one was a bit of a cheat.  I’d started this poem some time ago, but finished it today.  So that counts, right?



Pain is weight.  Anger is weight.  It sinks us daily

sometimes, and I claw for air.

There may only be moments of breath

before he spirals down again.


As a mother, I bear the weight.


First the pediatrician, then the psychologist.

There are theories, medications, occupational therapy

for a beautiful boy with brown eyes and invisible anchors

tied to his body.  He’s too young, they say,

for a solid diagnosis.  We wouldn’t want a label

pulling him down.


As a mother, I bear the weight.


I put my arm around his shoulder.

He rests his head against me and we sink

into the couch together.  He smells like

feet and the Oreos that he ate after dinner

that still linger at the corners of his mouth.


In the recesses of his mind, the one

that wrings him limp from one moment

to the next, that I have to remind myself

is in more control of this than either of us,

I pray he knows

with my tired body

and my dented heart

I will bear the weight.

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