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My son who is not my son
Calls me at work to ask when I’ll be home
And wants me to play hookie with him when he is sick.
My son who is not my son
Argues with me with the tenacity of a bulldog lawyer
Or just your average teenager.
My son who is not my son
Talks endlessly about the merits of any video game system known to man
While I try my best to pretend to know what he’s saying.
My son who is not my son
Is smart, curious, thoughtful and witty
And leaves me forever amazed.
My son who is not my son
Believes accuracy and detail are important
So when I, for a moment, forget that
This son is not my son
And use the wrong word–like “mom”
He is quick to correct me–gently.
This son who is not my son
Will never be my son, nor I his mom
No matter how I wish it.
He has a mom, who ought not be a mom,
She breaks his heart across time and miles
And I am left to hold the pieces together.
Meanwhile this mom who is not his mom
But would be if she could be
Cries a thousand unseen tears for the battered & beautiful soul
Of my son who is not my son.

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