AUTISM: A POEM.

. . . . . IX. Uncertainty


. . . . . 1

The late-day rain gives way
. . . . . to a few final lines of sunset

still slipping a bit through
. . . . . low cloud cover. A dark file

of empty boxcars returning
. . . . . from marketplace approaches.


. . . . . 2

While our son watches,
. . . . . outside his bedroom window

each one slowly rolls by,
. . . . . awkwardly swaying as it slides

past the last light showing
. . . . . along a straight edge of horizon.


. . . . . 3

The freight trains’ distant
. . . . . chug and dull thuds always grow

nearby. Though no longer
. . . . . tugging cargo, they strain, stutter,

sound as uncertain as any
. . . . . statement uttered under duress.


. . . . . 4

By midnight, when silence
. . . . . resides here once again, even

those empty cars will be lost.
. . . . . In sleep, all we know disappears

farther back into the tight
. . . . . knot of a moonless night.