My Son Is Only Three But Already I Fear He Knows The Truth of Me

I feel
hollowed out
stripped down to
my bones, scraped clean
like even the marrow has been
scooped away. Only empty shafts
remain, the kind of thing
my son would hold up to one eye, pretend
it’s a telescope. Let’s be explorers
he’d say and I’d have to spend my afternoon
talking like a pirate. I’m not good
at doing a pirate voice.
It mostly sounds like
nothing at all. I picture us,
my femurs pressed against our faces
on the lookout for danger and
treasures alike. There are sharks
everywhere, he warns me. Don’t worry
I’ll protect you I assure him.
We’ll protect each other
he says
like always.