She thought her son’s girlfriend must be pregnant—
Something to tell you, he said, at the door
of his boyhood room. What else could it have been?
Years later she would be able to laugh about it—
the swelling thought-balloon above her head,
as he shoved a pile of math books off his bed
to make a spot for her, then handed her the words
as carefully as if he were taking apart
his childhood Lego tower that she had saved.
(But don’t tell his father. Promise.)
Years later she would be able to laugh about it—
rainbow t-shirts, friends’ kids coming out,
a son’s not-girlfriend not pregnant!
Though pastel hairbands had littered his bedroom floor.
What was his mother in there looking for?
(Don’t tell his father. Promise. Asleep
in the next room over where soon she would slip
under the covers, making space to hold
what their son had told her, and keep it safe.)
Leave a Reply