I close my eyes in the only hour
where my time is not devoured

I’d rather nap to peaceful ocean sounds
than get lost in paperwork mounds

The insurance company might not care
I’ll fight and claw to get us there

It’s 1:15 on another Monday
my eyes just need a break today

I’d dream of him performing miracles
defying the empirical

He wouldn’t be tongue-tied on the train tracks
he’d ask me for his favorite snacks

He’d rise up from his wheelchair and stand
and frolic in the Jones Beach sand

I’d watch him run around in the sunlight
we’d all laugh and dance on his wedding night…

I dry my tears in the lonely hour
and climb the paperwork tower

Of course it will get filled out and filed
and they’ll give us bathroom tiles

We’ll get shower chairs and portable ramps
my hands keep writing through the cramps

We’ll call to fix all the creaks in his wheels
and carefully feed him his meals…

He looks at me on this evening hour
his laugh gives me newfound power

He unties me from those stubborn tracks
he laughs as he chews on his fruit snacks

We take summer trips and he claps his hands
making splashes in the Lake George sand

I hold him close in the August moonlight
we will all sleep soundly tonight…

The timeframe freezes at this late hour
his sweetness overtakes the sour

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Born and raised in Long Island, NY, Chris B. (he/him) is a dedicated husband and father/caregiver to his son, Brayden. His writing style is a combination of free verse and formal—Shakespearean with a twist. Chris prefers to say more with less and let his raw emotion rooted in personal reflection do the talking. This one’s for Bray Bray…

LinkedIn: @chrisbwrites
Substack: @chrisbwrites

Brayden pictured below: