It starts with a call.
The frogmen in their
frogmen suits. One lifts
his head from the water
to say, “Got something.”

You birth him, raise him,
praise him, berate him.
You place inside him
your hope and dreams,

And then, one day you
awake to find he’s not
in his bed after a night
out at the bar. He refuses
to arrive home that day.

And while people look
for him, high and low,
you know. He is gone.

With some sons, it’s not
the morning when you
realize he is not there.
It’s the every day he is,
suffering, battling, losing.

It’s the middle of the day
when you realize that he
will not make it to the Ivies,
That he might not make it
out of your home.

There are worse things
in this world. Like knowing
that he is gone from you.

A son is a funny thing.
You birth him, raise him,
praise him, deflate him.
You place inside him
your hopes and dreams.

And one day, the phone
rings in your home. One day,
you get your answer.

This is a parent’s lot:
the phone rings, and you
are the only one home to answer.

*-in memory of Shane Montgomery

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