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Photo by Taylor Leopold on Unsplash

Poetry | September/October 2021

The Week My Son Leaves Home

By Erin Murphy

At the red light  
I can see inside  
 
the fast food place  
with the atrium  
 
playground. A mother  
wipes the face  
 
of a child who tries  
to pry himself away  
 
from her, eager to return  
to the cylinder slide.  
 
Surely there is a physics model for this— 
 
the tug and the pull.  
I can feel his warm  
 
gummy hands 
in mine, sticky  
 
with juice. I can  
feel him slip loose.  

2 replies on “The Week My Son Leaves Home”

Amy Baskinsays:
September 17, 2021 at 10:11 am

Don’t mind me; I’m crying over here. You nailed the landing.

Reply
Danielle Lemaysays:
September 22, 2021 at 12:56 am

Great tension between the title and the body of the piece. And, yes, you nailed the ending!

Reply

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