To: A mother
Re: Her Two Children
Called in for help
From Toronto, Central
Your son, 17, sits behind bars
Your daughter, 14, (lies in hospital)
Behind horrors
Surviving – barely
You lay on her a Joseph cloak
To cover your Jacob love
He’s clothed in the orange smoke
Of a Cain sacrifice
10 minutes too late
Fortunately
Unfortunately
You see him, flesh of your flesh,
For 30 minutes you abide
Blood of your blood
Spend 23 hours and 30 minutes
By her bedside
And wonder not to judge
Support him but never sympathize
Console her but never accusize
With words
But with your eyes
Do you condone and let her die,
Anyway
Or disown
and let him wither that you have birthed
tended, defended, rendered
heartless
Heartful – mother only
On Afternoons and Coffeespoons 