Poem for my son

the Sarajevo mother
her dead son wrapped
in war and the bloody arms
of hunger, 1992

Did you know I wrote about her?
my young poet's voice
feeling into
the crevices of frown/eyes/
the deep keen of mourning
there where she held
onto rubble, falling.

I hear you breathing
the world sucked in/out
no grenades in your pocket
and I forget for long seconds at a time
the Sarajevo mother.

I hear you leaping
the world in your lungs,
sucked in/out
you: my joy.

this is success:
your hair streaming upwards
sun/clouds hunger/tears
your epidermis wings/anchors
your world like paint
you are colours
you are rainbow/
sunshine in water
deep to somewhere/anywhere
paintbrush in your pocket.


Merilyn Childs
Sept 23rd 2014