Our Boy

“Were is he?” Were is he?”
She is waking. Sitting.
Leaning toward the edge.

But he is not on the floor.
In this room.
This house.

Our boy has fallen,
But not from this bed
Rather from the thin ledge of life.

And in the morning she’ll lie prone
Screaming on the laundry room floor.
Trying to dig a hole in the water of her grief.