Boy Adrift

by Linda Larkin

We drew straws for the best room
and you won. Remember?
You won the room with a balcony overlooking
pines and dogwood and native growth.
That room became your cave
when your dad said
"I'm leaving and I don't think I'm coming back."
Surprise lightning
that one week later played out
and you watched him pack while I cried.
Your brother carried suitcases to his BMW
and he drove away.
You watched the forest burn
as I became
a leafless dead stick of a woman.
And you, still a dingy of a boy,
gazed backwards for the parent ship
which had been anchor
nd saw only mist
felt only emptiness at your father's place.
Holding grief too tight in your young heart
you could not tell your closest friend so
I told his mom.
Left alone on icy water in darkness
you did not drown.

Linda Larkin, Celtic harpist and former hospice social worker,
lives in Santa Fe with her new husband and, in spurts, writes poetry.