Again
Blindsided again
whacked right across the side of the head
where now the whirls have gone red
Such an old pain
It was so gone,
and here, no notice, blood and guts all over the floor
flopping around like so many beached fish
no wonder.
There is that little girl again
curled and crying
looking for thought and a father
How old do I have to be
Not to be a child?
Do grown ups hurt this much too?
whacked right across the side of the head
where now the whirls have gone red
Such an old pain
It was so gone,
and here, no notice, blood and guts all over the floor
flopping around like so many beached fish
no wonder.
There is that little girl again
curled and crying
looking for thought and a father
How old do I have to be
Not to be a child?
Do grown ups hurt this much too?
posted by Echo at 12:11 AM
3 Comments:
perhaps we all carry our childhood pains with us... through life...
and life is the story of unloading them...
your words are so poignant!
Maybe it is the remembrance of the initial pain -- certainly is in your poem -- which brings it all back and certainly adds to it.
We cannot ever live and forget, I guess.
some do.
Post a Comment
<< Home