Wednesday, October 27, 2010

The Same Thing

Last night 
I hugged my son good night
As usual
But it was different.
We held on to each other for a long time
As if we would fall to pieces if we didn’t
And the concern, almost selfish, was not all selfish.
He worried about me
And I about him.

What a blissfully sad moment.

What makes me a good mother?
What makes him a good son?
The same things that made me the black sheep of the family?
The runaway
The reckless
What was that?
Whatever it was hasn’t changed much in years,
The nakedness of my heart, perhaps
The rawness of my soul, maybe

The same thing that drove one man away
Keeps his son next to me
The same thing that emasculated one man
Makes a man of his son
The same thing that destroyed a family
Keeps this one together

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