What Else Could I Do?

What else could I do

but fall to my knees

and hold him?

A boy confused

by adult words,

over spoken,

spoken too loudly,

spoken too fast,

spoken at all.

 

Then,

his face,

held up

like a young otter’s,

breaking the surface

of a river,

shaking off the water,

looking for a way back 

to shore.

 

What else could I do

but reach for him?

tell him everything would be all right,

even though I knew,

that the door would open,

it would be cold outside,

most of the song birds

would already be gone,

and the river

would soon be frozen.

DSC_0054

Photo: Leigh Pumilia

 

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