There’s nothing quite like a good short poem to punch you in the gut. Joshua Wood’s piece does just that.
My Son’s Voice Changed Today
He’s ten months old.
He wobbles on the floor babbling his baby needs in the tenor so
common to the men in my family. Tomorrow I’ll teach him to shave.
I’ll supply him with the razor blades he’ll need to be presentable in
good, most company. The box is waiting in the bathroom.
In the morning I’ll open it, show him what to do — how to stand there,
alone, holding a razor to his neck in front of a sweating mirror.
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