9 months ago


An Elegy for Childhood

An Elegy for Childhood Under the pine tree ~ (Did I say pine tree? O willow, I wish.) Under the pine tree circled by chairs, empty and staring and daring me fill them ~ Who would I huddle with here if I could? Who would assent to the telling of history? Who would consent to be spelled by the mystery? ~ ~ ~ See us, there on the stairway, hidden from view, there, just us two? Remember the vision of men in their tails, of women all silver, stars in their hair?

We crept to the warmth and the comfort of books, to a world that seemed safer, though lonesome the landscape of “Nobody’s Girl.” ~ ~ ~ The chairs of childhood were buttoned-backed and deeply curved. Their stiff brocade became our second skin, absorbing bony elbow pokes and giving way beneath our angel wings. We lay like crescent moons against the midnight blue and dropped our legs like fishing lines left limp and unattended. Familiar sounds of home, the humdrum notes of any afternoon were sucked away from our en-leafed terrarium.