Once, when a child,
We cried.
Once, when crying,
We laughed.
Once, when laughing,
We hurt.
Once, when hurting,
We leaned.
Once, when leaning,
We loved.
Once, when loving,
We hugged.
Once, when hugging,
We lived.
Once when living,
We learned.
Once, when learning,
We wondered.
Once, when wondering,
We worried.
Once, when worrying,
We prayed.
Once, when praying,
We thanked,
Once, when thanking,
We cried.
The other night, the wind and rain
slapped a lot of beauty out of their canopies.
The rain fell on the leaves,
the leaves fell like rain.
The colors lay dead.
I tried to rally my kids to pick them up.
I gave them Elmer’s glue and a stapler.
I had a few ladders, too.
The sun was out and how much
I wanted to see the colors against a cool blue sky
rather than on faded green and asphalt and gravel.
I prayed for a resurrection
and imagined the maples bending,
gathering leaves like fallen feathers.
But then, my kids dropped the glue
and staples and the disbelief
their faces had shown me.
They ran for rakes.
With their faces flush with autumn air,
they piled up the leaves on the runway.
They carelessly overlaid color on color,
like a scribbler with crayons.
Their excitement rose, as did the pile.
I saw the clear blue sky in their eyes
as they lay laughing in the spectrum.
I smiled as their redemptive act
fell on me like cool rain in the night.
Photo by Dinolms
You were found
right before first position,
just for a while.
We brushed prayers out and up
for beauty not to be fleeting,
just for a while.
We rubbed our toes in your chalk
pictures on the driveway,
just for a while.
Our arms were extended,
flowing like a swan’s,
just for a while.
And we gathered you
under our wings,
just for a while,
because,
in a while
you will dance.
When I was young, I had your back
by uneven steps on the sidewalk.
I stopped paying attention.
I had destinations.
Oh, your broken back.
The dandelions pushed through
to see if I would look down.
I kicked the buds off their bases.
The cement was mine and I
didn’t notice the shin splints.
The wheels turned.
Skateboards and bicycles
sent bumps up my discs.
I got off the walk
by borrowing your car.
I left you by the side of the road.
I was center lined and selfish.
Things were said, better off dead.
Your broken back.
Your broken heart.
I’ve seen my kids stutter step
down the walk protecting
a spine of a mother kind.
They look down
while clasping her hand.
Their mom wants them to look up…
to watch were they are going.
But I hope their hindsight
serves to see the curved
back they once protected.
Written for my mother, who stuck with me even when I stepped on cracks.
© Gerald Allen Barrett and parentheticallyspeakingin3d, 2012.
Gerald the Writer 