
The Week My Son Leaves Home
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”
Don’t mind me; I’m crying over here. You nailed the landing.
Great tension between the title and the body of the piece. And, yes, you nailed the ending!