I yelled at my son,
my shining Orion, today.
My heart cracked,
his heart cracked
as I became thunder.

How many times,
how many times,
how many times,
must a mom
tell her four-teen-year
old son to do something?

Homework, Orion.
Walk Onyx.
Take out the garbage.
Don't forget to practice piano.

Homework, Orion.

Walk Onyx.

Take out the garbage.

Don't forget to practice piano.

Homework, Orion!

Walk Onyx!

Take out the garbage!

Don't forget to practice piano!

HOMEWORK, ORION!
WALK ONYX!
TAKE OUT THE GARBAGE!
DON'T FORGET TO PRACTICE PIANO!

How many times?

Minimally a million,

the same words spoken,
circling in a ongoing loop,
like an album stuck on
the same words -
the same words -
the same words -
reiterated, over and over,
before the year's end!

More than our hearts
broke today.
When I became thunder -
calm followed,
a sweet break through,
as we sat on the couch,
facing each other,
mending, apologizing.
He heard me and I heard him,
like birds singing of passing rain,
surrounded by epiphany's effloresce.

Will he hear me and I hear him
tomorrow?
Yes, more than today,
and... every day more and more.

I just can't wait till...
he does his homework,
walks the dog,
takes out the garbage,
and practices piano
without my asking,
all on his own.