My Son, My Sun

Youth waits beside a telephone with pale moon face and wetted lips Beneath the mask of marbled stone, the hooded eyes are sapphire chips His hand is taut, his feelings bare, below the surface of his pose He wills her call with silent prayer and chants a yet unspoken prose Mother waits outside the door, her mouth and fist enjoined as one To watch this child she does adore become a man. Her son. Her sun Father smiles in sad recall of yesterday and youthful ache No interference would forestall the errors that his son will make A raucous din and three hearts lurch, the pale moon face illuminates Though reticent to move before some strength of nerve accumulates He clears his throat for gruff "Hello", dons nonchalance for final wait An eager soul from out of view with breathless tone accepts the date Relief is broad upon the face of Father as he turns away And Mother's smile, a careful pose, conceals the words she dare not say All parents write the weary prose and wear their fears upon the brow Each furrow says to one who knows, "My child is facing manhood now"