Parentage

by Spencer Keene

When our days were split
into triptychs of hours,
summer buried by a pall
of smoke, small terrors.

A sea in a throttling ocean,
cast off from the shores of
childlessness into the great
smothering heat of paternity,

nothing was as supposed.
Our carefully curated nest
turned out to be unsuitable,
our escape plan unhatched.

In the lee of a roiling wave
we wept ‘neath his wailings,
our tears swirling together
into some hideous elixir.

Today, our path is nowhere
near as steep and perilous.
Yet, we still wear our scars
on our lapels like badges.

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Spencer Keene (he/him) is a writer from Vancouver, BC. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in SAD Mag, Poetry Lighthouse, Shooter Literary Magazine, and elsewhere. Find more of Keene’s work at skeenewriter.com.