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Poem

They told me things
That left me on memory's wings
Long ago ...
When I write I show
The white eye of the page
Things that my own heart caged.
The almond like a miser
With its nut, the sun like a fire
Stoking my gut,
The journey that dawn my history
Snatched from unmuddled memory

The child playing alone
Pounding stone on stone
His only friend was solitude
And that shaping of him
Is my sum, span and latitude ...
To break the shell of wooden bone
And move the kernel
From its throne,
To the disgust of the sun
Roasting me
Till I was over done

My brother's hands took me out
And served me to my father's eye
So to grandmother I was en route
But I did not cry
Though things were sailing by
The world moving backwards
Leaving the sky
Cradled on my eye.
My mother's heart was snatched that day
It was my fault to play ...
A child at one needs a protecting eye.

It was my first train ride
And the only train I did not break
It was more than a toy
And too big for the sensibility of a boy.
The thing just swallowed up my pride
But I not quake
For I who defeated the sun
Would let my father see his son
Bravely longing
To return to solitude and fun,
I have watched carefully
My solitude when now I play, ruefully.

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