"And then you sing to me a sweet, unbidden song."
--excerpt from "My Son," a poem I wrote yesterday
"Morgan" oil on canvas, 10x13''
My Son
You wouldn't smile if I asked,
but you would if I didn't.
Spirit blazing with your little spark of defiance,
or else all wide-eyed innocence,
spilling your long stories to me
along with milk off your spoon,
while your cereal gets soggy.
Round, pink cheeks and soft curls,
part cherub, part imp;
Every day I bathe in your sorrow, your fury,
and your love...
Sometimes, when you find me,
amidst piles of laundry,
eagerly clamoring to help sort socks,
I get a glimpse of the man you will be,
And then you sing to me
a sweet, unbidden song.