Father and Son
An evening before I lost you.
Your slight shoulders were so proud, so firm,
as you sat with the friends to whom
you'll always be beloved, posturing, but never pompous,
perfect little man, sixteen, yet as small
as a sparrow finding its wings in a teasing world.
And my worries seemed far away, Time light upon my lap,
your beauty conquering all.
Beautiful little man.
And as I pressed against my ancient chair
and dreamed my way down all the greying streets
shot to light by your smile, you came
and sat on my knee. You leaned into me
and I rested my chin on your rioting hair
and thought how blessed I was
to feel your courage against my heart.
So slight you were and yet
in your teenage years, so suddenly apt
to take offence, or say little stinging things,
to shake off my enormous love.
It made you feel oppressed.
But now you were content to ignore your friends
and ally your silence to mine.
Your soft silence, so soft
and yet the pain of my joy,
a joy always so close
I held you close, I held you fierce,
for even then I knew,
I would never hold you again.