My Son

"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.