SONNET FOR MY SON, UPON BEING ALIVE

To My Son, Upon Being Alive

I think this rainy night I see, young child Face on swollen breast, heartbreak, so tender The wrenching pain, so close, true love defiled Child, with wide eyes, fight night’s cold surrender

The other Mother storms, wails like Banshee I dread her fate, the walk in her small shoe A heart, it breaks, it rips, a broken plea Disrepair, oh shattered, beloved blue

The cries be heard for now and for always

They ring for the Lady of the Wayside

In hands clasped close, ancestral mind ablaze

Rhythmic perfection—how life does abide

Yet dear small fingers once light and now dark Will forever and always make their mark.

Noëlle Jacquelin