I fear . . . Mean Kids

I wrote this poem a few months ago when my son (and family) was in crisis. My terror for his emotional safety has abated, but I am breathless with dread when I think about helping him, and then my daughter, through the emotional rocks of middle and high school.


I am one step removed
And still the name calling
And cruel games
Carve my heart.
No one told me that parenting
Meant living through middle school again.

Now, I have the added responsibility
Of guiding my son
Through these treacherous waters.

I am stuck
Somewhere left of helpless.

I know that ultimately
He must be the one to stop the noise
still I hover
On the periphery
balancing not-jumping-in
(Use your words/steps/ACTIONS)
With the fierce desire
To destroy those
Who wound my boy
(and by proxy, me)

Simmering under it all is the fear
That my son
Will become a catastrophe
Of sadness and anger.

It all comes down
To the blacktop
Where words slice
And children bleed innocence.