When the house lights went down
I started to cry. It's just
a third grade concert -- songs
about "this earth our home"
with canned accompaniment
and four third-grade classes
fidgeting on the risers -- but
you'd have loved it. Of course
his whole life you were too sick
to travel to see him shine.
It wouldn't have occurred to him
to expect you there, but
I would have texted you a video
the minute I got to the car.
You'd have watched it later
when you woke up, when you felt
up to checking your phone.
You would have sent a string
of celebratory emojis. You'd have
laughed that he knows already
how to make a mike stand taller,
praised his stage presence...
I wiped my eyes furiously, hoping
no one noticed the ridiculous mom
in the second row who was moved
to tears by songs about recycling.
This is how I send you video now,
Mom: these poems I don't know
if you can hear from where you are,
this earth no longer your home.