Dorian Kotsiopoulos
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Dorian lives in Canton, Massachusetts with her husband and two children. A freelance technical writer, she also writes fiction and poetry.
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Today I Saw a Boy in a Box
Today I saw a boy in a box,
my son’s age with his same name.
His mother, lame with grief,
propped in a queen anne’s chair,
to bear the crowds who come
when a boy dies young.
Empty eyed, she grasped my boy’s hand,
clasping, clutching, crying out
his name, their name.
Today I knelt by a boy in a box,
flooded by the thick, sticky scent of
lilys and roses that cascaded his casket.
If my boy should die,
don’t console me with cakes or casseroles.
If I thank you
it is only by rote
for there is no relief for pain
so hollowing.
Tonight, I will slip into my boy’s room
as if it were a shrine,
synchronize my breath with his,
as I did when he lay in his cradle.
I will smell his seventeen-year-old scents:
sweat, semen, sweet life.
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