Dear sixteen-year-old son
“I don't know, gang”
is the answer to every question
every helpful suggestion.
I’m no longer singular, the singularity
around which your life orbits
both metaphorically and literally.
I’ve lost my gravitational pull.
I'm a gang.
An organized group of criminals.
Well, let me tell you,
I'm not organized,
and I'm mostly trying to keep you
keep you out of prison,
keep you from sadness,
keep you out of the cold ground,
in my own chaotic,
highly individual,
possibly irritating way.
So, you don't know, gang.
You can only remember a handful
of your handful of years.
I can see there's safety in numbers—
the number of years I remember for you,
the number of lessons I've learned.
And I give these lessons to you,
a rite of passage for you to
disregard and distance and dismiss.
When you barely glance up
I see sixteen faces,
every year
moves farther away.
3 replies on “Dear sixteen-year-old son”
Beautifully written, Amber. As a mum of teenagers your poem really resonates with me. So proud of you x
Love this poem. I also have a 16-year-old son. I especially like the line break after “keep you” and that beautiful next stanza. Thanks for writing this and sharing it.
Hi Amber,
We meet in Tina’s Forum. I love your poem! Every parent can relate to it. You have a wonderful cadence, but your words, too:
I’m a gang.
An organized group of criminals.
I’m mostly trying to keep you
keep you out of prison,
keep you from sadness,
keep you out of the cold ground,
You can only remember a handful
of your handful of years.