My Son

It was easier in those power ranger, transformer years. Days were about the school lessons he loved, games at reccess, a birthday party. Tears came with knee scrapes and the one day he and his best friend fought over who would be Optimus Prime. A momentary cuddle would cure him, the wrong quickly forgotten by morning.

Suddenly, his head is almost level with mine and words don't flow between us. His few step behinds have become strides ahead and nights in are buffered by a series cookie-cut TV programmes. Secrets weigh heavy between us as his days stay locked behind closed lips and I wish I could hold him again.

Photo by Becky Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor