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'A Blessing from My Sixteen Years' Son'

A poem from 'Sinners Welcome'


I have this son who assembled inside me

during Hurricane Gloria. In a flash, he appeared,

in a tiny blaze. Outside, pines toppled.

 

Phone lines snapped and hissed like cobras.

Inside, he was a raw pearl: microscopic, luminous.

Look at the muscled obelisk of him now

 

pawing through the icebox for more grapes.

Sixteen years and not a bone broken,

nor single stitch. By his age,

 

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