My Son at Eleven
He darts ahead of me on the hike down to offer
his stable shoulder, with a glance at my knee
marked by age and repairs. Now all the quartz
he found trail-side weights his pack. Next night
he nods on my shoulder as I read about Mordor.
He chooses boxers identical to his father’s,
says he feels funny when we kiss in front of him.
Please stop. He begs me not to sign the form:
he heard the talk for fifth-grade boys is gross.
He saves allowance, purchases his own shirt
about lost weenies, bicycles alone
to buy Skittles with the change. Oh my small,
tall boy. I kiss the top of your head yet.
It still fits in my bike helmet.
Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram
Michelle DeRose (she/her) is Professor of English at Aquinas College in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she teaches creative writing and African-American, Irish, and world literature. You can find some of her recent poetry in Dunes Review, Route 7 Review, Peninsula Poets, The Lakeshore Review, and in the anthologies G. I. Days: An Anthology of Military life and Where We Left our Last Few Words: 50 Years in Tully Cross.
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