In the autumn rain
 
a man embraces his son,
 
then sends him to war.

 
 
 

“The school bus is here!”
 
my neighbor calls to her son—
 
summer slips away.

 
 
 

Labor Day weekend—
 
an old man longs for his son,
 
last seen years ago.

 
 
 

On a wooden bench
 
the homeless man takes a nap,
 
dreaming of his son.

Ashes

 
 
 

After last night’s rain
 
she leaves the funeral home
 
with her son’s ashes.

Puddles

 
 
 

my son after school
 
taking the shortest way home
 
right through the puddles

Slums

 
 
 

finding my lost son
 
under a blue sombrero
 
in Tijuana’s slums

Daisies

 
 

in a clear glass jar
 
three daisies picked this morning
 
by my youngest son