Saturday, January 4, 2014

Henry and Me, a Wingless Thing







The History of Mothers and Sons

All sons sleep next to mothers, then alone, then with others
Eventually, all our sons bare molars, incisors
Meanwhile, mothers are wingless things in a room of stairs
A gymnasium of bars and ropes, small arms hauling self over self

Mothers hum nonsense, driving here
and there (Here! There!) in hollow steeds, mothers reflecting
how faint reflections shiver over the road
All the deafening musts along the way

Mothers favor the moon—hook-hung and mirroring the sun—
there, in a berry bramble, calm as a stone

This is enough to wrench our hand out of his
and simply devour him, though he exceeds even the tallest grass

Every mother recalls a lullaby, and the elegy blowing through it

Lisa Furmanski 
via Poetry (2008)

13 comments:

Sara said...

God, I love this.

37paddington said...

He is so incredibly handsome and whole. Love the series and the laugh and the poem.

Claire said...

The boy is shockingly handsome...and your ability to photograph him (and everything else), stunning.

fullsoulahead.com said...

Your boy is even more gorgeous than the poem.

Denise Emanuel Clemen said...

Wowza. Bang. You've killed me with love.

susan t. landry said...

thank you for the wonderful poem. henry is perfectly lovely, on the cusp of manhood. oh how we love our beautiful sons.

yobobe said...

has anyone mentioned how devastatingly beautiful this boy/man is? Holy Smokes.
Great poem too.
xxoo

Kathleen Scott said...

Henry's grown so much in the past year! From child to the beginning of manhood. It must give you vertigo.

Ms. Moon said...

I'm a little bit speechless here. That son of yours. Lord, Lord.

Lisa Peters said...

Becoming such a handsome young man, very JFK Jr. like

Vesuvius At Home said...

I could cry!

Steve Reed said...

Terrific in every way!

Pam said...

great poem…thank you for posting

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