This life is not what it was supposed to be,
To rail against, silently,
To pretend, outwardly.
It won’t be all right because it
wasn’t supposed to be in the
I surround myself with his photos and
What do I remember? My son.
My plans for him, what I thought would happen,
How his life was supposed to be.
He holds his beautiful head in his hands.
His scent is the same.
I’m sick when he flies away.
I watch the plane and wait for an
The turn to insanity
Violence twists gentleness to
Then he returns for a few days; my lost child.
I glimpse him again.
He comes home again after I
Lay him to rest.
This new boy is him,
I’m an alcoholic/addict who’s being taught that
God will heal my disease while
My psychotic son languishes
In a mental hospital where,
They tell me, he
Cannot be taught about God
Because that kind of approach to his
Disease is dangerous, feeds his Psychosis.
Then, in the next breath, they say
Our diseases go hand in hand,
The same gene that’s made him
Also made me an addict.
So there you go.
There it is.