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)
God, I love this.
ReplyDeleteHe is so incredibly handsome and whole. Love the series and the laugh and the poem.
ReplyDeleteThe boy is shockingly handsome...and your ability to photograph him (and everything else), stunning.
ReplyDeleteYour boy is even more gorgeous than the poem.
ReplyDeleteWowza. Bang. You've killed me with love.
ReplyDeletethank you for the wonderful poem. henry is perfectly lovely, on the cusp of manhood. oh how we love our beautiful sons.
ReplyDeletehas anyone mentioned how devastatingly beautiful this boy/man is? Holy Smokes.
ReplyDeleteGreat poem too.
xxoo
Henry's grown so much in the past year! From child to the beginning of manhood. It must give you vertigo.
ReplyDeleteI'm a little bit speechless here. That son of yours. Lord, Lord.
ReplyDeleteBecoming such a handsome young man, very JFK Jr. like
ReplyDeleteI could cry!
ReplyDeleteTerrific in every way!
ReplyDeletegreat poem…thank you for posting
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