The boy stands and bounces,
holding the edge of the sofa,
humming sloppy raspberries,
grinning,
losing his balance,
bewildered.

The boy stands and swings
across the plate,
adjusting in midair,
stained
with clay and grass,
intent.

The boy stands and shreds,
fingers ripple across the strings,
builds patterns, textures,
stutters,
shifts his arm,
absorbed.

The boy stands and flings
his mortarboard clear to the sky,
turns to remember the boy who cannot,
joining
a sea of others,
uncertain.

The boy stands and leans
into the pressing swells,
taking his chances,
not knowing
what will come,
awakening.

———————————-
My youngest graduated high school this week . . . I think a good mother would have struck a more optimistic tone. But, life is complicated and it is hard not to see that even in the most jubilant of moments.