I was five years old, Five, a long time ago, and My long blond hair had never been cut-- Like a child Samson Until that year That year when I entered Kindergarten-- My parents had just divorced, And I was supposed to learn In some imposed system--the teacher told me to Sit down, And I refused and kept standing, Ive been standing ever since. The sunlight was brighter then The night was darker. I was more innocent. I was bewildered and pure, Closer to heaven still But still with a childs fear. Funny how you remember Some things as a child Some not so funny Some heartbreaking Breaking like innocence Breaking like innocents Broken like the cracked skin on my friend Patricks young face. Patrick who was allergic to the sun, Whose face bore scars and cracks Like parched fields The skin peeling in squares, Pus leaking sometimes, Scabs in the corners Always hurt, always healing-- We would play with toys When it was time, But he only chose monsters. He only chose monsters: Frankenstein, the Wolfman; They gave him some place of refuge-- How would you seek refuge How did you seek refuge At five years old Thrown into kindergarten, The sometimes unkinder garden At five? Was I kind enough? Was I cruel? Did I avert my eyes? I remember the jokes about him, The meanness of children-- But I also remember walking home With him, worrying about the sun Burning his face. It is hard to be alive, Even at five.
Posted on: Sun, 20 Apr 2014 06:51:56 +0000
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