The plangent roar of my grief
reaches my grandson’s heart
far off, past
my deluded belief that my
sadness is encased
—rolling like a stone apart,
from the field, a paltry sliver—
illuminated with his simple words:
I want to live with you.
I rise up dripping from the stream,
still able to find my footing,
for love is true. My college friends derided
babymaking, they decided
not to breed cogs for this unholy
wheel, no children for the American
dream, the improbable scheme
looking too much like hell.
But I chose differently and now
it doesn’t matter that my heart
is set to shatter, or that I am tired,
so tired. I recognize this young place
once again disgraced, her hopeless
grip threatens my trip to
watch comedy under palm trees.
The remedy: I’ll laugh anyway.
I’ll find the strength
to make it one more day.