Jenny Factor USA
Diptych
My son, singled, struck and stung,
by that unprosecutable blow, the
schoolyard
skim, is such a small and serious person,
darkly deliberating interactions,
skirmishes,
schoolchildren. He empties out his haul
of stories over a buttery grilled cheese
dinner
on our linoleum kitchen-floor. I ask
myself
if he’s thinner than before. Fallen from
grace,
he’s still my grace, the sinewy 5 year
old
I half-constructed with love from a daily
mitigation
of my separate needs, mistakes, whims.
I kiss his day-weary wholesome face.
He wipes the kiss away. Unhelped,
uncertain.
The sinewy 5 year old I tried to rescue
from my separations: need, mistake, whim
loves the creature in me I wish I weren’t
when he courts the darts of school
children.
Home, I try to hold myself
to his game of knights and dragons
where he likes to rewrite the rules.
But my wings are chafing against my body
and I can feel the fire breath
singeing him, as he tells the stories he
drags home
from school. There is no rescue from this
forest
of childhood game play and maternal
misstep and mistake. While reading the
paper, I cup
the
head I cherish. He smiles at my…distraction!…
then uncertain, he wipes the kiss away.
--Originally published in Margie
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Jenny Factor. |