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serenity blaze
Member Empyrean

since 2000-02-02

Posts 27738

0 posted 2006-11-11 05:08 AM

His eyes
they travel distances
miles beyond two foot to floor
his fingers
practiced 'listeners'
are tapping liquid hammering
as if they had been there before
and found a rest
between the frets
like a mourning dove
a theft
nest without complicity
"listen" says his chin in nod
he tries to play without the fears
but winces when he hears the chord
of her dancing ivories
entering his private world
sitting cross-legged on my floor.

I watch my son
in gathering
rhythms haunched
a shadowing
to dance behind
the privacy
of his eyelids
quickening
like castanets
and prisms sing
from tears my boy
cannot afford
wavering acoustic string
as if it were the only thing
and nothing else would want me more--
than the brush of fingertips
slam the box for emphasis
with a finger fore!

"BAM"

I want a violin
and fingers pulsing
bow to string
I wished I knew the resonance
of the bongo and the drum
I wished I had a tooth necklace
and a tango partner when
he danced his shoulders with the gore
flashing of Toreador
as he made the thin string cry
shivering the memory
of the bull in quivering
shuddering the flag's defeat
dropping to the ground
as this:

treble
in the sway of his
moments of adrenaline
shivering the strength
of him
angry at the end of bliss:
buckled at the knees
he spent
moments of indignity
dying in the dust
with us
cheering as his eyes
were wile--
wild and white
he snorted myth
eating wind
and charging thus:

It's all that I had waited for--
watching as my boy stood grim
bent graceful as parenthesis
lashes long
diminutive--
with sparkles on my bedroom floor
silent after offering
the death of all my nurturing
lost within a crowd of roar
of our own imagining:

"This is what we came here for"
as he nodded, lingering
on that last bent note of string
boasting
"I'm a boy no more,"

Grinning,

"I'm a man."

Sunshine

Administrator

Member Empyrean

since 1999-06-25

Posts 63354
Listening to every heart

1 posted 2006-11-11 07:17 AM

His rites of passage...
presented with precious grace
and sound...oh, the sound
of short pants gone long.

Hugging you both...
and wear a pullover
or all of your buttons
will be lost.