He's 18, he's skinny, hungry and doom is his beacon
homeless, drifting and fearful, his hope weakens
Calls me every once in a while, it's rare
usually for money or a favour, if he dares.

Jason, my sweet son, find and build your nest;
you're pulling me apart, I seek peace, my heart needs a rest.

I hear the longing in his voice, his wishes are still.
I dread to see him, he's so thin, I think he's ill.
I hold back the tears that threaten and try to smile
for if I start, I'll not stop, so I'll pretend for a while

Jason, my sweet son, find and build your nest;
you're pulling me apart, I seek peace, my heart needs a rest.

Goes from place to place but never tells
Embraced the street, got locked in cells.
Got seduced by drugs and drink
Escaped and was lured back, I think.

Jason, my sweet son, find and build your nest;
you're pulling me apart, I seek peace, my heart needs a rest.

I wish I could take him into my home
but if I do that, I'll be his safety dome.
He'll forever fall back on me and my heart
until one day, at the seams, my very being rips apart.

Jason, my sweet son, find and build your nest;
you're pulling me apart, I seek peace, my heart needs a rest.

As it is, I can hardly walk straight
knowing he's out there, somewhere, thin as a rake
Too naive to be all alone, not street-wise
unfortunately though he's learning quick, I can't deny

Jason, my sweet son, find and build your nest;
you're pulling me apart, I seek peace, my heart needs a rest.

I want to feed him, let him stuff his face
I want to offer him a bath, a warm bed, a safe place
But I can't, I just can't; must be strong
to open my doors would hinder his growth, be wrong.

Jason, my sweet son, find and build your nest;
you're pulling me apart, I seek peace, my heart needs a rest.

These days, I wake up flirting with sorrow
and hope we all make it through to the morrow
It's not in my nature to be tough and mean
and it's killing me, my conscious is not clean.

Jason, my sweet son, find and build your nest;
you're pulling me apart, I seek peace, my heart needs a rest.

You get that late call in the dead of night
The kind that clutches your sleep, awakens a fright?
You know you have to answer but you don't want to
Without a doubt, a serene part of your life will be through
Struggling to wake, the shrill continues, your head hurts
Finally your eyes open, you look to the clock first
Only 3 AM, it has to be him.
who else knows your ability to rescue from a limb?
With trepidation you sneak an arm out of the covers
you reach for the phone, all other emotions are smothered
Praying with all your might, you squeak out a "hello" in the dark
Eyes shut tight, you know this call will leave a sad mark.
Hoping for a soft response, panic barks out at you;
You hold your breath, this really isn't anything new.
Tears roll from your clenched eyes, here comes the doom;
onto the pillow they dance, your only witness, the moon.
"Mom!?" the young voice shatters through
"Mom!? Help!" the voice pleads, this child you rue.
No matter the request or the hour
you listen, console, promise and get up to take a shower.
It could have been worse, it could have been a death
but sometimes you wish you could run away, it might be best
This time, you could cope
Next time, maybe all you can do is hope.
Those 3 AM calls,
One more brick from the wall you built, falls.

She called me at work one day;
it was seemly the sky was so gray.
She was sad, scared and sorry
she was going to have a baby but not to worry.
The plans were made, no going back,
the wheel was in motion, upon herself the attack.
I lay my head in my arms and sobbed
I cried until I moaned, a life was to be robbed.
She was so very young
her hopes, her dreams as of yet unsung.
This wasn't the first time she asked me to go
and those memories choked me in a savage flow.
12 years old, holding her hand making her laugh
Never thought I'd return, at least not so fast.
She has had another baby since then
when she was five and ten;
It's a lovely child
healthy and always with a smile.
She's coping, gone back to school
Child mom, I still say you're a fool.
Now I have to hold her hand once again, soon it'll be through
and she doesn't realize what she's asking me to do.
To go back, care for her, be strong and do what's best
Once again, I take on the role of escort to death.

All poems on this page ©1998 Carmen Eva DuHaime

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