not a choice

maybe, mother

he cannot look away

frozen in the light

illuminating his dark corners

stitching together his torn pieces

i am like water to his parched lips

soothing the screams and the rage

grounding the lightning that crashes

i stand straight in the face of the storm

arms raised toward this heaven between us

that like rainfall feeds the flower

and we are green and lush and clinging

maybe mother, there is no spell for this