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The Facts of Life
by Patrice Bunge
At eleven my son tells me he knows
exactly where babies come from.
Brows furrowed together, he nods
with a matter-of-fact stance as if
everyone knew one kiss is all
it takes for cells to transfer,
unite and divide. I survey the
landscape of his smooth, round face,
his dark intent eyes, searching
for a glimpse of the man
he'll soon become; the stranger who
will take my young boy's place.
Wait here, I whisper, don't go.
Not just yet.