Day 8: P.S.-Everything is Fine

Out of Touch

Your head once fit beneath my chin, sweaty, sweet-

smelling, and ripe with wonder. I carried your body,

your limbs lax with sleep, nursed your wounds, wept

to watch you turn, chameleon, into a version of a man.


When you stopped hugging me goodbye on the steps

of the school, my heart shivered, cracks in its veneer.

Kisses at bedtime lasted longer, protected by privacy,

but ended soon enough, my heart a cracked windshield.


I thought I had grown used to this distance between us,

small doses of proximity from August through May. But

today your voice on the phone says Mom, says emergency room

and the heart cleaves into canyon, four hundred miles deep.


7 thoughts on “Day 8: P.S.-Everything is Fine

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