the stranger

‘why?’, the stranger inquires

interrupting my quiet reverie of memories

so much of my life is lived in the past now, and i catch myself speaking of lingering son as if he lives there, though he is perfectly present

‘why didn’t you pull the plug?’, the stranger presses

as if my son’s presence merits an explaination, a justification

as if there is some giant cosmic plug somewhere, a switch we can flip at our own choosing, when we think it’s best

(this stranger thinks she knows what is best, yet she did not conceive you, carry you, she did not birth you with joy and raise you into young adulthood

she doesn’t know you…or me

she wasn’t there, all those months

she has no idea about your life or mine now)

and yet this stranger fancies herself superior somehow, ‘i would have pulled the plug’ she says 

there is no plug, i tell her

it’s not that easy 

nothing is simple

i turn back to lingering son…we close our eyes, feeling the warm spring sun on our faces, lost in our inexpressible thoughts


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