My Son

my son is an enigma
his face a pool of expressive mystery
his smile elusive, and yet so enveloping
disarming

i wish i could stay angry.
his power over me,
to hurt me, when he snubs me
is overwhelming.

if he could only feel what i feel.
walk in my shoes.
carry around my bleeding heart in his chest.
just a moment.

if we could only be free to love each other
without reserve,
as we once did.
when there were no walls, no barriers,
no past, no baggage

only the moment
in which we held each other
read books,
sang songs,
played, ran and jumped

before i was crazy
before i was erratic
before i was a danger for him to be around.

when i used to be his Sun,
and he my Son.