Bitter

 

Mothers who mourn their sons

Come to me

Let the wind

Blow through your bones

My son got his first tooth at three months

 -a little pearl in pink gum

Walked at eight months

 

Can you believe it?

At two years he was humming

A Mozart melody

 

I sit by the phone

Pray for his voice, his breezy

"Hi, Mom, How'yer doing?"

 

Here's a photo

His angel's face

His angel's heart

 

Mothers who mourn

Let me kiss you

Yes, mouth to mouth

There's no embarrassment

We're stripped and flayed

And everything tastes bitter

 

Cemetery Song

 

Sprawled

I reach out to touch the coarse grass

That roofs you

I need something to touch

 

Your arm

Your cheek

Give me your hand

Please

 

My lips brush

Dry grass

I kiss

I beg

 

Please

Only a whisper

Here, in my ear

 

Pressed to earth

Come to me

Touch my head

Wake me

I, too, am dead