Mother and Son

After months of running away, my baby came home
smelling of sickness and vomit. Gently, I led him to the bath,
turned on the faucet, held his hand under the tap.
Too hot, and his eyes, ringed with red, gushed
redder, stinging, looking like he’d been slapped

by me. Baby, baby, where have you been?
Looking away, I undid a button, a zipper. His foot got stuck
in the leg of his pants. Take your sneakers off first,
I whispered. He held onto my shoulder for balance,
almost collapsed. Sat down on the toilet

and lifted his arms. I tenderly pulled up his shirt,
tried not to look, but saw his rib cage. And veins.
And fresh needle marks. Helped him into the tub,
turned off the tap, scared he would drown.
Took his hand in mine and opened it up,

placed the soap on his palm. It fell out
so I picked it up. Methodically washed his dark,
gritty skin, wanting to get rid of the dirt,
the pain. Washed over his arms, trying not to see.
Cleaning his cracked, splintered nails, I broke one

and he jumped. Sign of life. I remembered
a long time ago, he used to be small, and I
would wash his soft baby skin with soap that smelled
of lilies of the valley. He used to splash. Used to laugh.
And look at me in the eyes. Now his head hung limp, waiting

to fall off. Baby, baby, what happened to you?
I turned the soap into pumice, trying to scrape away
the stink of decay, but he clung to it
and it wouldn’t come off. I scrubbed his back,
his neck, his pustular toes. When I washed his chest

I could feel his heart pounding. Sign of life.
I ran my hands through his hair. Strands of grease.
Gingerly massaging his scalp, I picked out
half a band aid. Threw it in the trash and slammed
the lid shut. Then I picked him up from under his arms

and helped him out of the bath. He was shivering,
a mass of jelly. Wrapped him tight in a towel.
Touched my lips to his forehead and he was on fire.
He tried to swallow an aspirin, but threw it up. I dressed him
with fresh clothes and led him to his old room. He slept

like a baby. The next morning I woke up
and there was no sign of life. Baby, baby,
where did you go, why did you leave?
I sniffed at the air, thought I detected a faint trace of lilies,
but it was only the sweet smell of vomit.