when both of my sons
are raising hell on a
full moon afternoon
compulsively
raging at me about
a teenage heartbreak
call home from the principal
or the fact that i made good on the promise
if you don’t clean your room
i will

my mind swims to sacred waters
evoking the image
of my twin baby boys
at age two
little pot bellies
in yellow terry
paddington bear sleepers
clinging to their lovies
through tears
because mommy had to go to work

to remind myself
this is why i am in the fight
this is my life
i was given this task
because i am capable
enough to tackle it
and survive

knowing
every parent who battles
nature
society
and god or the lack thereof
for the sake of their spectrum child
and still manages to make miracles happen
everyday

(capable of understanding
buttoning a shirt properly
can qualify as a miracle)

that parent
is the patron saint of autism