my child is poet
though he hates to be called one.
says every mom 
thinks their kid is a genius.
meanwhile, he's writing lines
that strip flesh from bone -
about his 92 year old grandfather -
about honor
about home.
i see that words are just a tool for him
like a baseball mitt
or a pencil
or food.
maybe he is on to something - 
this ambivalence towards words. 
skips magic pebbles across the pond 
while i dig around in the dark
looking for the perfect stone.