blissfully ignorant hoots of
childlike sounds reach my ears
a squeal then-mom, he doesnt know how to swing, only spin!
i exhale in a huff...teach him i say

i need to be alone
to tend to the frustration rolling inside me

i look across the lawn
where he clips the hedges
with perfect cutting precision
a glint on the scissors edge,
like a samurai sword thats been reduced and cheapened

i identify with the quick severing movement
it looks satisfying

hes ignoring me
even though he can hear me over the headphones
in an odd inexplicable movement the clippers fall at his feet
and i see his shoulders slump
that this small thing too has become something to bear

i dont melt
but when he falls i fall
and so i squelch my insides and walk over
i hold out my hand in offering and acceptance
of the clippers
he tells me in snipped words that hes got it
and that i dont know how to get the shape that hes perfecting
on the unchanging evergreens
we dont look each other in the eye
but i keep my hand out
and i say
...teach me