A Poem for My Son

Photo property of author.

My baby is turning fifteen.
Sullen and sulky, glaring up at me
Because I stare at him too much.
How I wish I could make you understand
Your growth, this emerging independent self
Has taken me like a storm.
I’m off guard: new territory.
I’ve had daughters, a sister… I know girls.
But never a son
Turn into a young man
Before my eyes. Metamorphosis.
Who is this boy with boat-like feet?
Struggling to find space for them.
I don’t recognize this stranger.
Rough whiskers on his face,
Once downy baby skin, smooth as petals.
When did that sweet-smelling hair disappear?
Those chubby, sticky fingers, which fit loosely in my hand
Have been swallowed up by Time.
Time, insidious traveler who ate, stole, drowned all innocence
And my smallest one away.
He cannot understand this mother’s love;
An invasion to him.
Images of a corduroy-clad toddler lining up trucks in the mud,
Looking up at me with pure love.
The joy of holding him at that perfect weight.
He’d smile, guileless, before he knew words.
So forgive me dear son, if I gaze too long
Or love too much. I am in awe,
In wonder as I look at you
You, whom I carried in my body, were a part of me
And now you are a man.

A blurred picture, but it captures the theme of this poem… a long time ago. Photo property of author.