Thin Ice

For Ezra

They run, laughing and I see it,
almost before it happens.

He slips, boots fly out from under him.
Boom. 

When he falls, he falls hard.
I know what that feels like.
I have my own scars.

From the porch, I see him try to rise, 
sliding on all fours.
I wait, 
wishing him resilience.

With eyes, wet and wild 
he wails one word,
Mom.

But she is not here. 

The ice beneath his hands
slowly shatters.
Loud angry cracks 
radiate 
across the sidewalk,
across the street,
across the universe.

The ruptures in this house, these hearts,
may never heal, never recover
from the 
ice in her veins.

I fear that he'll fall through
into the cold depths below.
And if he should
I will sweep away the snow and pitch my hut
and cut a hole, light reflecting from above,
so I can see everything.

He cries out again,
this time for me.
As I drop to my knees 
He cries out
it hurts,
it hurts.

I know Buddy.
I know and
I am here.