Poems of Motherhood
My Son At Twenty-One
For Daniel
My son says:
I hate you
with all my heart.
You won’t be invited to my wedding
in five o six years.
you won’t see my children, ever!
I disown you.
I was singing him a lullaby one night
He was barely four
He started to cry:
I’ll make a clay statue of you, Mama,
After you die.
And
Then sobbing:
No! Clay will break
I’ll make it out of iron.
:: Design by Waterman
:: Logo woodcut by Barbara Leventhal-Stern
