Mother of a black boy

My son told me, when he was four

or five, that

If I threw my heart in the river

I would change

the world. I guess 

I really don't have a choice 

in the matter, my son is 8 

now, climbs mountains, fences,
stays away from gated

communities and the like, 

I have yet to tell him that I am not so

concerned about his cavities

while I instruct to get a bag of plain

chips and no drink

when he, big man,

walks to the store half-

a block from my house

I haven't taught him how to

defer, politely, yield, stop

my son goes hard

and so I question

If I fucked up

if I made him think 

things were like a skittle commercial

though there are no

random gun fights in 

skittle commercials

and there are no frightened black boys with hoodies

and my son, 

middle name Courage

is often frightened

tugs his hoodie round his face

like a security blanket

trying to hide

vulnerability from me

when he asks me

if that is

another gunshot

and should he stay away from the windows

and what is death like

and what is it like to get shot

and why isn't it safe?

and he trembles just a bit and draws in on himself like a wind just chilled him and

now even if I hold him real tight

he still trembles a bit

cause the wind speaks to him

like I'm not even there.