< Issue 7 >
Have you written any new poems lately?
by Elaine Body
Have you written any new poems lately?
Yes.
Cool. Can I read it?
Uh, it isn’t finished yet. Let me find one you’ll like.
I pretended to look through the poetry
Sitting inside the depths of my computer
But I knew there was nothing I could read him
Nothing that a ten year old boy should hear
Or have to understand
And soon he was distracted by other things
But I couldn’t shake the cold feet and palm sweat
At the idea of reading my words to someone
Much younger than me and not equipped to chew
On the flavors of my defeats
And I know he’s much older than a ten year old should be
But I do not wish to age him further
He does not yet understand the luck in his youth
Or the fact that he can re-write his story
And then write it again
I am fifteen years older than his heart
I should have a better understanding of myself
But there are mornings when I feel like
I am waking up to a stranger
And he looks at me as though I have it perfectly together
Maybe I’ll catch up to the way he looks at me
Maybe--
He’s the type of kid that sees when you’re upset
He’ll place his hand on your back and ask if you’re okay
And even if I’m full of stomping feet, yells, and screams
I’ll just say yeah I’m okay
Because I feel the weight of an old soul
Where a small hand is touching me
A small hand shouldn’t be so heavy
I imagine I’ll read him poetry
When his youth has faded edges
And people no longer surprise him
Have you written any new poems lately?
by Elaine Body
Have you written any new poems lately?
Yes.
Cool. Can I read it?
Uh, it isn’t finished yet. Let me find one you’ll like.
I pretended to look through the poetry
Sitting inside the depths of my computer
But I knew there was nothing I could read him
Nothing that a ten year old boy should hear
Or have to understand
And soon he was distracted by other things
But I couldn’t shake the cold feet and palm sweat
At the idea of reading my words to someone
Much younger than me and not equipped to chew
On the flavors of my defeats
And I know he’s much older than a ten year old should be
But I do not wish to age him further
He does not yet understand the luck in his youth
Or the fact that he can re-write his story
And then write it again
I am fifteen years older than his heart
I should have a better understanding of myself
But there are mornings when I feel like
I am waking up to a stranger
And he looks at me as though I have it perfectly together
Maybe I’ll catch up to the way he looks at me
Maybe--
He’s the type of kid that sees when you’re upset
He’ll place his hand on your back and ask if you’re okay
And even if I’m full of stomping feet, yells, and screams
I’ll just say yeah I’m okay
Because I feel the weight of an old soul
Where a small hand is touching me
A small hand shouldn’t be so heavy
I imagine I’ll read him poetry
When his youth has faded edges
And people no longer surprise him
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