| Poem. |
[Friday, November 4, 2005
10:17pm] |
Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
He wrote a poem
& called it “Chops”
Because that was the name of his dog
& that’s what it was all about
& his teacher gave him an A
& a gold star
& his mother hung it on the kitchen door
& read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
Took all the kids to the zoo
& let them sing on the bus
& his little sister was born
With tiny toenails & no hair
& his mother & father kissed a lot
& the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X’s
& he has to ask his father what the X’s meant
& his father always tucked him in bed at night
& he was always there to do it.
Once on a piece of white paper with lines
He wrote a poem
& he called it “autumn”
Because that was the name of the season
& that’s what it was all about
& his teacher gave him an A
& asked him to write more clearly
& his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
Because of its new paint
& the kids told him
That Father Tracy smoked cigars
& left butts on the pews
& sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
& the girl around the corner laughed
When he asked her to go see Santa Claus
& the kids told him why
& his mother & father kissed a lot
& his father never tucked him in bed at night
& his father got mad
When he cried for him to do it
Once on a paper torn from his notebook
He wrote a poem
& he called it “Innocence: A Question”
Because that was the question about his girl
& that’s what it was all about
& his professor gave him an A
& a strange steady look
& his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
Because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracy died
& he forgot how the end
Of the Apostle’s Creed went
& he caught his sister
Making out on the back porch
& his mother & father never kissed
Or even talking
& the girl around the corner
Wore too much make-up
That made him cough when he kissed her
But he kissed her anyway
Because that was the thing to do
& at 3 A.M. he tucked himself into bed
His father snoring soundly
That’s why on the back of a brown paper bag
He tried another poem and called it “Absolutely Nothing”
Because that’s what it was all about
& he gave himself an A
& a slash on each damned wrist
& he hung it on the bathroom door
Because this time he didn’t think
He could reach the kitchen.
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| Dear Friend, |
[Wednesday, November 2, 2005
3:29pm] |
I am sure that you don't know how much pain you are causing me. I know this, because I love you & you love me. But I think you should know. & I know you can't change your feelings for him. I'm not asking you to change your feelings for him...
I don't know what I'm asking.
Love Always,
Carly.
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