Andrew'A Song Poem by David McLansky

How can I dull this mother’s Ache
Fist pressed against her heart
Clenched as if her Heart would break;
Frail wisdom to impart

Flesh of her flesh
Which had grown inside
After twenty years
Had prematurely
Died.
He at his very height;
She in her summer pride;

A child who had won his mother’s smile
With humor and clever guile;
Died with a needle
In his arm
On the floor
Of the bathroom tile.

He knew in the end
His flight from pain
Was a weakness he could
Not contain.

He tried to assuage
Her pictured grief,
Her futile rage;
This shame-filled
Thief.
Who stole her joy
Her certainty of
Belief;
He made an effort
To compensate
Her loss;
His impending FATE
He the tempest tossed.

Once their hearts beat together
There hearts formed a chord
That couldn’t be severed
Now she sits on the porch
His Death had bought her
Arguing with him
Against Self-slaughter.