interdependence

glass melting into
tiny pools slip
from your eyes
you are sad
my son:

disappointed in yourself

(the hardest brand
of self admonishment)

i wait for the glass
to shatter
as you blink
and blink again

they linger
longer and finally

crash
splashing onto
your shoulder
your shirt
the one you picked
out for too much
money but said
you 'just LOVEd it'

(and i love you, so...)

i cannot believe
you are my son
and my heart
breaks each time
i realize

your tears are
not mine to wipe
away

they are yours
to pour lifetimes
into

fragile is not
something i
am necessarily
good at

autonomy
shines in the
face of Mother,
longing.