Sleep-Anxiety
Moon violets rush spring. Then bloom the bulbs,
the cherry cutlets
My son stands in the woods and I crouch
just until I cannot see him: blond hair, yellow raincoat,
six bottom teeth
Every gingko leaf drops the same time
to my feet
My mother lost her son in these trees. He didn’t use
the house key in his pocket because he was not alive
She washed her black hair and disappeared to dry
hyacinth and some hostas in the yard
I had to be careful of what she saw, especially at night
I took her a white blanket the size of the yard,
told her her Will was in heaven
even though he was the blanket she would wrap herself in. He was the house
in the ground, and I was her grief I could not see. My son was mine
Julia Anna Morrison |