The Boy Who Lived

I was 23 when we took my son home from the hospital

his dad was one year older-

maybe younger

or more in either direction

the government dated him

I remember how

we could always be moving

in either

direction

that first night

our little apartment

with the cutout hole in the wall

where

we placed a cradle

and hung paintings

named him Kingsley

for

Shacklebolt

as in

you are shackled

to these parents

we came home that first night

with a baby

and Fabio was anxious

large

looming

before anger

there was fear

and I told him

you cannot fall apart

I am

untethered

and this boy

who

lived

cannot survive

if we both succumb

to how little we know

about

everything

so Fabio sat

on a carrot stool

the one my aunt gave me as a child

for my Thumper stuffed animal

and he started singing

that little boy

songs

and night

after night

the baby grew

he is taller than us both

now

and in 9 days

he will graduate from high school

we didn’t throw a party

or take pictures

or buy clothes for prom

or a senior class party ticket

we didn’t

make a guest book

or punch

or cater in

we went to therapy

and tried medications

and I got sober

and he grew bigger

he has the cap

and the gown

and the cords

and there is no

carrot stool

in jail

where tonight

his dad is sitting

maybe thinking about

when we brought home that

boy and

how

for maybe one

night

and one night only

he tried to

save us

all