Leveler Poetry Journal
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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