The Mother

Death throbs throughout
her body. (She pushed
the needle, and her eyes
are tethered to the empty,
white ceiling.)

Her mind clings to Michael
who’s fixated on the swings.
He is released and attacks
the playground. Why is he so
happy?
Finally, his eyes pull
away from the sand, he waves.
She tries to push a smile,
but she can tell–from his changing
face–he is learning.     

The Child

Stanley is the kicking,
the spinning in the park.
Our days are finally taken
over by a frenzied life.

The biting tells
us he is too much
for others. The TV is great
for him. Life is still.

He sleeps. He doesn’t tell
us about his favorite shows.
There is a sighing. A change moves
throughout the house.

Stan is all upstairs,
we only hear his door
and the screams
of video games.

—–

Something I wrote for Time to Write’s Contest asking for poems about childhood.