poem two: growing like a

He spins in wide circles,
trying to shake the sudden
surge inside his head.

I’d said, you’re growing like a weed!

He said
to stop saying he’s growing
like a weed, he said
he’s not like a weed at all. He said
weeds are bad, unwanted.

And then he started spinning.

And he spins.

I say
No sweetheart, no, weeds grow
fast. And not all weeds are
bad: nettle tea, dandelion wine,
clover smells sweet in late
afternoon sunshine.

And he stops to look at me.

I say
I love you
and you could not be more
wanted. And you are sweet
like clover, and lucky like
the ones with four leaves, too.

And he smiles (smiles: bright,
common, but suddenly beautiful, like
the first dandelion heads in early summer).

I love you too, Mum.

My son hugs me (hugs: rare,
special, also like four leaf clovers)

and I have to reconsider
my use of simile and metaphor.

 

 

*(Today is World Autism Awareness / Acceptance Day. This poem is for my eldest boy, who is autistic, and definitely my four leaf clover.)