A Mother and Her Son
by Paulette Demers Turco

    In this short Life that only lasts an hour
    How much—how little—is within our power?
Emily Dickinson

From the moment he’s conceived,
this mother’s love begins to grow
as he develops in her womb—
the ultrasounds, his kicks, his turns—
when she craves pickles and ice cream,
hears the cardinal’s April tune,
and at his birth, his cry. She’s blessed

he feels such comfort at her breast.
He smiles when she reads “Goodnight, Moon,”
her rocking lulling him to dream.
Soon he crawls, can run. He learns
the fragrance of a rose in bloom.
He rides his bike and sleds in snow.
Soon bear hugs, trophies he’s achieved,

his hearty laugh, success he’s known—
stolen. His death stabs her to the bone.


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