The Darkest day,
A Sunday in Charlotte,
Moving in and moving on,
Well, at least one of us, it seemed.
The other left running in place
Or not running, just standing still
In the whirlwind, the ever-spiraling, sucking void
Finally, it spirals itself out,
The concussion knocks us forward in different directions
For her: to the long planned PhD., and
For me: the two brightest days:
First, the wedding day, at last imagined into reality,
A delusion dissolved Then, the birthday:
My son,sweet and perfect, if born too early. Days and
Days on a respirator in the intensive care unit, then, at last,
Home, eating , growing, never sick, and now,
A young man: lean and smart and strong.
Then the tumor comes to my head
The pinkish-brown grapefruit from hell,
But the surgery gets it all
And each day is a bright day.

But let’s not get too upbeat.

Dear son: I love you and trust you know
But who can be certain with thirteen-year-olds
On father’s weekend hiatus to the psych ward?
Instead: to be home: walking with you at the park,
The leaves curling and dropping their bright colors
Around us. Oh, I know them: the process of curling and dropping
To the ground, shimmering as if
From some light autumn breeze, but to
Be brightly colored just once, myself of myself. The chakras their proper
Colors and aligned.