21
April
2009
April
2009
Fever
A 2 am fever roused my son,
his cries rousing me.
I held his sweating brow
against my chest, my wife
dipping the medicine into his mouth
as my waking form swayed,
our feverish love staying sleep
for the next hour.
A forgettable night, but for this poem,
A night he will never remember.
space
The present an echo of the past,
of the nights my mother, my father scooped me
up, sacrificing cherished sleep
to sooth me,
to sooth my fever,
something I do not remember
something they will never be thanked for
Their love burning
a fever is in the early morning.
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