He cannot tell his mother he's dying
somehow he's embarrassed, ashamed of 26 years
of imperfections, of doing everything she told him
(even as an adult) not to do
he's ashamed for her too, another son to die this way
that out of milk white and perfect bones
came a perfect cell that would divide and divide
her heart into a million pieces , if only she knew
his world was every yellow tulip she breathed in april
every strawberry whose redness she swallowed in july
every song on her lips whose notes
slid in tenor waves through her thin skin
and lulled him off to sleep again
hush little baby, don't say a word
she once felt his fingers and toes fluttering
beneatht the tight skin of her belly, his straining
to open his mouth and tell her everything
in the world he knew was beautiful
Now he feels an invisible weight
pushing out on his belly
and his love has no words
for nothing in the world he knows is beautiful
