a poem a day for a year #364

by Amy Turn Sharp


my son woke me up with a kiss on my mouth
sticky spit suspension bridge between us
like sap
honey
syrup
my god how did I deserve this?
he demanded me to rise and love him with madness
how does he know about Kerouac ? 
does he listen to everything I say?
and I did love him and we did dance
on piles of laundry
over scattered toys
and he held me like God
like the future
we are our own small fires
little mysteries
that burn up the bad
light the room
does he know we gave birth to each other?