it hits




I got to the point

where I stopped mourning

what I would have lost

in near miss situations.


why borrow trouble

why brush the shadow

of a gift horse

to a soft sheen?


but then I was sitting here

recalling a poem I once wrote

about my son

nursing in cowboy pajamas


and I got it

the lightning down my spine

pelting me with cold, unwelcome tears.


he slipped away from preschool

and was found by the side of a busy road

throwing bottles against concrete

their forms shattering

like my world, almost.

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