The Boy Turns 13 on Wednesday
He’s petitioned grandparents for a new gaming system.
He’s booked his buds for a cook-out, sleep-over.
He’s taking his girl out Saturday afternoon after he fences on The Downtown mall.
(Chaperoned.)
He texts as fast as the wind.
He began the year in a size 8 shoe, and I just bought him size 10.5 soccer cleats for the Spring season.
Men’s.
He has a discernable mustache,
his own distinct code of honor.
and a sense of humor that makes him crack himself up.
I love when he laughs at his own jokes.
He still hugs and kisses us goodnight and goodbye.
And writes poetry
(used with permission)
4/13/11
Emotions
It feels like a drawn out sigh,
The prickling of tears you wish you could cry.
It smells like sweat,
That horrible odor.
It looks like a bowed head,
A creased brow.
It sounds like hollow cheer,
But still utterly sad.
It tastes like glue in your mouth,
Silencing your cries.
It is hopelessness.
It feels like a fire
Burning white hot inside you.
It smells like burnt plastic,
Putrid and vile.
It looks like a beet red face,
Like a cherry about to burst.
It sounds loud and incoherent,
Hurtful and sad.
It tastes like a poison
Corrupting your soul
It is anger.
It feels like your flying
High in the sky
It smells like her odor,
That only you know.
It looks like togetherness
And a bonding of two.
It sounds like a heartbeat,
Quick and fast.
It tastes like delight,
And the food you most like.
It is love.
It feels like a warm blanket,
Made just for you.
It smells warm and familiar,
Like a distant memory.
It looks like innocence,
White and pure.
It sounds like a laugh,
Or a well sung song.
It tastes sweet
And also rich.
It is joy.
They feel like a drawn out sigh, like a white hot fire burning inside.
Like the feeling of flying high in the sky, like a warm blanket.
They smell like sweat and burning plastic.
Like an odor and a memory.
They look like a bowed head and a beet red face.
A togetherness and innocence.
They sound utterly sad, mean and horrid.
Like a heartbeat and a laugh.
They taste like glue and like poison.
Like delight and sweetness.
They are emotions.
I love our boy.
And it’s not a cry that you hear at night
It’s not somebody who’s seen in the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!