For My Son

For My Son

Cleaning a room is an odd experience,

 like a trip into a jungle,

 where’ve you seen everything before,

but they suddenly have new meaning,

 or like an exotic trip,

one to the canyons,

where every useless item you find

 is suddenly valuable,

Like those old pants I bought you

the ones that never fit you quite right,

but you wore them anyway, just to make me happy

though I knew you never did like them,

or your mountain of mismatched socks,

 the ones I never could throw away –

even though we both knew I wanted to, 

but you, you were so adamant

in your defense, claiming that one day, their soul-mate would come

but that day never did come,

and it never will, not since the day

 I received that message, the one thrown

  on my desk in a crumbled mess,

the one covered in bitter tears so potent,

 the black ink smeared, pooling onto that ricketty, raggedy desk

             you spent all your time at, the cigarette dish still fresh,

your cologne, still too strong - the one that always

 made me sneeze - your faded drawings, covered in crayon and marker.

your favorite pen, used to write many of letters back in the day, your box of tissues

the tissue! Oh, how could I forget

  the tissue? The one you used to dab at my eyeliner

joking about how I looked akin to a raccoon

 and oh how mad that made me, but you

  you laughed it off, that deep laugh of yours

that sung a melody like the music box

A music box like a snow globe.

 My snow globe.

 Remember that?

The glass could never be cleaned, and the snow

 never quite looked right, but you

            worked so hard, throwing those darts

 and nailing the target, winning the globe

You held it proudly, like a trophy

 Then handed it over to me

            Now here it lies, clouded with dust

Is it still your trophy now?

What about that old piece of bread

 you kept in that liquid-filled dish

That grew a whole colony

 and I urged you to throw it out

  but you never could do it

How about your lucky ball cap

 that smelled and had more holes than it ought

            but you wore it anyway

your raven-black hair protruding through

 like a smooth pebble

  in a river that flew too fast

I would venture through this forest a million times

 if it meant I’d find you at the end

  with medals of gold on your chest

A hero, my hero

 Just like you always have been

            even with your quirks. The ones I loved

How could I not love them? You were perfect

            Always were, and always will be

You’re perfect to me

 I even keep that ghastly clock in my room

             that one that never did quite work

The one that goes off the same time every day

                        11:11

   if only I had a wish to make

But for now, I’ll settle with

 those dried, dead flowers

 given to me in the month of May

Proclaiming me at the Queen of them all

 I wore my crown proudly

            even though, it never did quite match,

My flour-stained apron, 

or weathered shoes

            After all, it was a gift from you

And like everything you’ve ever given me

            I’ll treasure it always. Even the grief

Because even this sadness, reminds me of you

Listen now, the clock is chiming

  11:11

 it’s time to make a wish