Poetry
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I am no longer alone
When he falls across my chest in the night
Breathing a slurred sigh
That came from his scarred palatal pain.
I comfort the weight of his bones
In my two hands
While his blood-smeared kisser
Bonds with my T-shirt.
His deep night crying wailed over me
Like the silent screams of the living:
He was alive yet,
Still calling to be someone’s child.
His mear cry echoes
Through the unframed fatherhood in me;
This solemn request becoming,
Without complaint, the song of my mind,
The breadth of my breadth.
Later in dim light I succor him,
—his cheek to my cheek—
I kiss the moans in his struggling neck
Feeling the small movements
Of his wind-chi bellow against mine;
I match the inner wave length of each hale,
Living for the moment
In the babe arms of a wanted child;
Drawing love from the Son of my life.
—Dumas fils
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