I scavenged the thoughts,
Strained them from mind
Set them to the corner to take form
And I remembered...
I remembered falling down steps
And off trees:
Sometimes being pushed off,
Sometimes merely slipping,
All the same- falling.
I remembered falling a lot.
I remembered sitting in class
Trying to learn some maths
And feeling a touch
Like of a nursing child
Pulling on my shirt, exploring,
What hasn’t been seen before;
The hole from the nail in the door
When I had passed too close…
Yeah, I froze like a ghost.
Hoping not to be seen.
Shame placed me in the hole
And put me on the stage
And shined light in my eyes
And I was seen… me and my shirt.
I remember it well;
It was blue with dragons.
Aunt Vadlyn – my mother’s sister-
Bought it for me, two Easters past,
I wanted it to last,
So I kept it, though it was torn
And slightly over worn –
It was part of the handful I had.
I hated when mother would bring
What might seem, everything,
For everyone,
But her daughters and sons.
The neighbors got theirs.
The workers got theirs.
From the little we had,
I was always behind the fad.
My shirt kept me afloat,
But, the hole and the poke
Were much like,
A sea, the ocean at whole
Trying to get it;
I wanted to drown,
The dead has no shame.
The dead had no shame.
The next week
I wore my shirt again
In the regular order
And she didn’t poke,
No one saw the hole.
I didn’t remember
It even. All was good.
Now as a man,
With money of my own,
Though not plenty-
Enough to buy shirts-
I still wear those with holes,
But now without shame;
Thank you mama.
Copyright © 2010 Leslie Alexis