POETRY NOVEMBER 9, 2011
Except when he sleeps, I never
get to see the crown of his head.
He always wears a baseball cap.
His jeans hang low off his hips.
This is the fashion. He holds
his hands—as I do—as all the men
in our family hold their hands—shyly.
He’s a beautiful boy—smart.
The two of us—we cannot say this
directly—we can only indirectly
acknowledge how beautiful and smart
we are through our mutual
admiration society where we speak
in nods and grunts and mumbles
from the crowns of our beautiful heads.
This article appeared in the December 1, 2011, issue of the magazine.