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Poem
I knew this as a child
My mother told me so
She’d lay down in my bed at night
And read a story slow.
With my ears I’d carefully listen
My eyes straight on the page
But when my mind would wonder
I’d carefully change my gaze.
Not to the words or pictures
Before my very eyes but
The rectangles above my head
Each one the very same size.
The small rectangles up above
Each one in its very own space
Lined up so very perfectly
The representation of perfect strength.
Each wire connected carefully
Like soldiers in a row
One by one I’d counted them
And she would never know.
Then one day she noticed
That my mind not fixed on her
So she changed her voice to singing
And I strangely looked at her.
My eyes moved quickly to her eyes
Then back to the story page
It was shapes that filled my mind each night
While her voice set the perfect stage.
Now I open her eyes anew
Where my mind would like to be
And from that moment forward
We both began to see.
It wasn’t just the fabric or the wires that I saw
But the very shape of rectangles, one big and many small.
The large shape was of fabric and the small shapes were of wire
An L an H and even a T I’d see during that half-hour.
My mother liked words she read
I liked all my shapes
Binding our worlds that we create
Perfectly together in our sacred space.
She knew that I was special
At the age of only two
For I saw the world in shapes and lines
And from many different views.
Some shapes were round and some were square
Like the rectangles up above
And at night in bed where I’d lay my head
She thought my vision profound.
Although most shapes I observed alone
Sometimes she’d point to others
Like the moon up in the sky
And ask what shape she’d discovered.
Sometimes I saw a bright, full moon
The shape of a perfect circle
Or a crescent moon, which had turned its head
Simply waiting to go to bed.
The discovery of many shapes I’d see
Through the words my mother spoke
Enhanced the quiet thoughts I’d have
Through exploring the shapes she invoked.
Some were square as a jack in the box
Others like stars in the sky
But I’d have to say my favorite was
The crescent moon up high.
Just before the light turned off
She tucked me into bed
And I never forgot the words I said,
“Look at the rectangles above my head.”
Now my brother takes my place
He will look above
To the fabric mattress and wire springs
That I have spoken of.
I lay so much closer
To the crescent moon above
and smile when I think of how
These thoughts and shapes discovered.
Seeing is believing, and believing is to see
Words can truly shape our thoughts
And shapes define our being.
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