Our Son Cries

your heart is a cracked accordion filling fast with salt – Patrick Rosal

My ex-wife called to tell me this.
Well, not exactly this. She called for money
I’d already paid. As an aside, in passing,
she added this: Our son cries.

He holds his face in his hands and sobs.
He stops by for food, cleansing, a couch
for sleeping on. He talks to himself.
He scratched the name “Jesus”
into his chest, says he’s fighting
the devil. He asked if he was adopted,
says Bob Marley is playing games
with his mind. His prescription
bottle’s full; he says the doctor is stupid.

Our son cries, she tells me in passing
after asking for money I’d already paid.
She cries, says she prays for magic.
I do not cry right there in front of her,
on the phone. Instead, I blink hard
and blink hard again.

This is a reprint of work originally published in Burningword Literary Journal.

Danny Earl Simmons is an Oregonian and a proud graduate of Corvallis High School. He is a friend of the Linn-Benton Community College Poetry Club and currently serves on its Poetry Advisory Committee. His poems have appeared in a variety of journals such as The Pedestal Magazine, Little Patuxent Review, IthacaLit, San Pedro River Review, and Off the Coast, where he now assists as a member of the editorial staff.

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One Response to Our Son Cries

  1. I like this very much. Thank you.
    Jennifer

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