To My Son. From Me. Your Mom.
My Son.
Fourteen.
So quiet.
He stays in his room.
Are you ok, I ask him.
I am fine, he says.
I like to read he says.
His eyes look past me.
His beautiful brown eyes.
I worry. Me. His Mom.
What hides behind those eyes?
What is wrong I ask him.
He clips his words.
Biting them.
Nothing, he says.
Hi eyes will not talk with mine.
His beautiful brown eyes.
I worry. Me. His Mom.
Is he lost I wonder.
Is he alone I wonder.
He is very tall, but I can hardly see him.
His eyes. Empty.
I watch him.
A forest I say to myself
There is a dark forest there.
His brown eyes fear.
His beautiful brown eyes
I worry. Me. His Mom.
A labyrinth.  Where he is.
His shoulders slump.
Heavy. Where shadows perch.
He plays his cello for hours.
His eyes do not see the music.
His beautiful brown eyes.
My son.
Eighteen.
Silent in the car
Are you ok?
I am fine he says.
His eyes do not see the road.
His beautiful brown eyes.
I worry. Me. His Mom.
He stares at trees alongside the road.
I think he is there.
Not in the car.
His eyes elsewhere.
He doesn’t look back.
Walking by sentries on his way to school.
He carries his forest with him.
A latched bag.
It will fit beneath the seat in front of him.
His eyes will watch it.
His beautiful brown eyes.
I worry. Me. His Mom.
I think he will open his bag again.
His eyes too hurt to cry.
So small the forest, but so large I think.
There are thickets, nettles.
I cannot enter his forest.
So alone he is.
His eyes seeking.
His beautiful brown eyes.
I worry. Me. His Mom.
I think he brushes against the nettles.
That he is raked by the thickets.
He is in pain think.
My son with beautiful brown eyes.
He comes home for a while
His latched bag with him.
And I see trails in his brown eyes.
Trails he has walked so many times.
His footprints cover his foot prints.
And his shoes are worn.
His eyes, so sad.
His beautiful brown eyes.
I worry. Me. His Mom.
Will he leave his trails and disappear
Disappear into dense brush and sit?
Sit ever so still. His shoes worn through.
I worry. Me. His Mom.
Will I see him again?
Will his eyes be forever closed?
My Son.
Twenty three.
He comes home again.
Still in his forest, I think.
Seeking. Struggling.
I am fine he says.
Days pass.
His eyes so tired.
His beautiful brown eyes.
I worry, me, his Mom.
He is on another trail I think
A new trail. Where is he going?
What happened in the forest?
His eyes brush my face.
His eyes are worried.
He wants us together he says
Mom, Dad, Sisters, Brother.
We sit silent. Waiting.
His brown eyes make holes in the table.
I have found my trail he says.
My path. Myself.
His eyes are sure.
His beautiful brown eyes.
I worry. Me. His Mom.
I worry what trail he has found.
I worry. I wait.
I look at his eyes.
I was born to love in a different way, he says.
We are silent for a little while.
Then we all hug him.
All of us together
We hug him tight.
His eyes. Alive again.
His beautiful brown eyes.
I knew this. Me. His Mom.
I didn’t know I knew this.
I knew this since he was a baby
And I looked into his beautiful brown eyes.
His eyes look at us.
He lets me see his new trail.
It is not in the forest.
His eyes have hope.
His beautiful brown eyes.
His trail stretches ahead of him
Through open fields.
A symphony of grass and sunlight.
His eyes look ahead.  
Still searching.
His beautiful brown eyes.
I worry.  Me. His Mom.
I am lonely he says.
I know I say.
I can see it in your eyes.
My son.
Thirty.
Not alone any more.
Happy.  Loved.
His eyes bright.
His beautiful brown eyes.
I don’t worry anymore.
Me. His Mom.
His eyes talk to mine again.
We hug.
Our hearts heal.
His eyes smile into mine deeply.
His beautiful brown eyes.

His beautiful brown eyes.
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