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Elegy for a son


I remember your delicate brown skin, and the fresh fluid surrounding your form.

You looked unreal, as you grasped at my chin

you were so small, but your heart was so warm.

A few days from then, I saw you again.

Your shape, once so darling bright, had ceased it's grasping and mewling motion,

and I knew you had been lost to the night.

Even if there's nothing out there after this. A world without you isn't a world.

There can be no smiles, no joy, no laughter so long as my son sleeps in death's arms, curled.

You would be four today, I still keep track.

The spot in my heart will never be filled. I wish to visit soon, in the deep-black; I wait for the days where my heart has stilled.

They will come soon, I promise. Very soon.

You won't be alone. We'll have matching tombs.

 

Lamar Johnson is a writer based in Virginia. He cites his influences as Wordsworth, Milton, Pope, and Blake.

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