AUTISM: A POEM
XIX. On Learning of Our Son's Illness
The only sound we hear is that warm afternoon
wind still sifting through the long arms of elms
everywhere around us. We watch as our son
runs alone across the grass, his figure silhouetted
now against sunshine slowly dying in the sky
behind him. Our own shadows are lengthening
along the lawn, drifting like little splotches
of cloud cover, spotty knots of shade blotting
bits of landscape in that late light—as always,
eventually seeming to link us with everything
we can see until nightfall once more gathers
all together in the false security of its embrace.
Even in such darkness, as the three of us return
home, fears of what might lie ahead never disappear.
This is deeply touching.
ReplyDeleteOut of nature you build a story that conveys all the emotions. Stillness - that first reaction to getting unexpected news. The need to close in for protection - wanting "the long arms of elms" and yet feeling forsaken at the same time because of the "sunshine slowly dying". Hopes blotted as "knots of shade". The "little splotches of cloud" hiding what you cannot yet know. Drawing close and being "all together" and aware of how the sense of security is easily shattered, made "false". And through it all this wonderful image of a child running across the grass and yet "alone" because from what you already know his world is not destined to be yours.
It's good that the diagnosis is not named. What these words convey are universal feelings.
Thanks again, Maureen, for your close and insightful readings of the poetry. Your responses are much appreciated.
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