A poem for a poem I gave Jake the last inhale Watching the a willow tree in a cow pasture turn to gold in the Acidic sunrise of a July we tried for years to forget. The long streams of branch swaying in a breeze that bumped my gooses From collar bone to sternum Raised buttons of oooooh, of ahhhhh, Of push them, push them - - we will never get out of here if we don't move faster Before I fall apart Jake falls asleep against the wind Shielded dreaming of a riddle on a Popsicle stick His tiny fingers clutching it Jamming it into his mother’s wringing hands Asking her to just tell him what it means that he can longer read French (as I flip the tent stake Mallet around and around, leav ing bruises in the ground, wondering if it is God or my child I…