he was going to be your own
the first one to cry at night
and sleep in your arms
to play in the park and learn to read
the first of all to finish school
and to be happy

you promised before he could hear
that you’d hold him all the way

now he’s so cold in your touch
still so tiny and fragile
your arms full of glass
how quickly it shatters
with edges new and precise
not yet aged and curved
like you’d find along the sea

and you bleed from holding on too tight

12/03/2003

Posted on 04/01/2004
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