Failed Elegy
Poem in which he does not die
by drowning or otherwise.
In which his mother reaches
just in time to wade into the center
of the pool and finds, a pulse in his wrists,
pulls him out and performs CPR
that she learnt just last week. In which she is not
driving to pick me up from the airport
and gets a call from grandfather
halfway to her destination, announcing
something has happened to the child,
come fast. And nothing so bad
actually happens. Maybe we learn he just fell
in the bathroom and bruised his arm
like babies do. But his mother panics,
and she panic calls me, who panic calls
grandfather again. Poem in which
his mother is not crying with me
on the phone, saying:
It was a little too late, to reach home.
In which she isn’t describing
an unusual number of ambulances parked
outside the house. In which we only discuss
theoretically, what a nightmare can be. And we pray
knowing what those many ambulances mean.
Suppose he lives. Suppose he goes to school again.
Suppose I give him balloons on his mother’s birthday.
Suppose I get to hug him too. Suppose I get to never write this poem.
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