Fearsome and loathsome hormonal intrusions,
these things we call fights are the sparkling of fireworks
the blasting of dynamite through a sharp mountain, the crushing of flesh under prize-fighter's fists and
the crying of mothers in bathrooms with vent fans.
As ancient as typical Biblical tales or
as common as ire between female and male,
I do not dare look to the crowds for my answers, I
do not dare ask if our anger is healthy, I
do not dare step in your pathway toward manhood, I
do not dare love you so much you don't grow.
Lovingly touching your graded school papers,
these things we call memories, proof that you live here
the blasting of heatwaves through ribs of our mothers, the crushing of time passing sharply,
stealth lapses
the crying of mothers in bathrooms with vent fans,
the blasting of freedom, he needs me no longer, the
blasting of time, child to man, small to strong so we weather these fearsome hormonal intrusions and
cling to delusions, the days come and go.
sea 09/25/2013
