Shiny and wet the city streets

Lights aside buildings line my view

Tires roll and spit the sound of rain fallen down

My son lies, sleeps, and heals

In hospital bed

Here I look and stare

As his eyes sealed shut cannot see

Covered in gauze

We wait

What will he think

What will become

All news sounds good

Will the results follow to be true

People walk by

I walk past each abode

Beautiful entrances embellish a few domiciles

Tonight my home is the city

Through a window still adorned in holiday decorations

I glimpse a Christmas tree and I wonder if someone is still alive in there

Another window is arrayed with fanciful pink lace curtains, how quaint I think

Tonight I smoke my cigarette and wish for nothing more than the face of my son

No material thing, but he that matters

His heart, his delicate pride

His pain he’ll feel the need to hide

I pray he be spared the inner wounds that visible scars can bring

I wish to remain in isolation on that

Not my child, my beautiful funny boy man

His identity blooming

Please Lord, it is so fragile

His eyes today can see

His wounds will heal and start to diminish

Please let there be no aftermath but lessons learned in mind

I feel as though people live in the city

So they won’t feel alone

And I have discovered I don’t want to be alone

Nor do I wish my son to feel this all alone

I am here and I will be there

He will heal

2-21-99 (San Francisco General Hospital)