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Sonnets From Other Lives: Andy

She finds him underneath the bed—
silent—locked down—deep inside himself.
She knows then he’d heard everything they’d said.
Andy? You all right? But she can tell
he’s not alright & probably won’t be
alright for some time now. Come on out
from there honey. We can read
The Jungle Book. But in her mind her doubts
flit like fruit flies. She lays on the floor
beside his bed. He’s curled like a cat—
his hoodie pulled over his head. He’s four.
How long will his memory hold that
moment that put him here? Forever?
Like a string grown too entwined to sever?