by Joanne Durham
Dear Children,
in the sugar high of fantasy,
tigers waving speckled stripes,
peacocks in flannel feathers
your Mom sewed
late into the night,
in the whirl of bats
dancing in eerie light,
they gave you a paper brick
to build a wall.
I’m sorry, they tricked you.
Long gone all shame,
they called it a game,
B is for blame, who can make
the wall high, who
can block out the sky?
Etch your name, lend the grace
of your loopy S or sideways d
to a tawdry wall of infamy.
Lungs breathe, hearts beat,
but growing up means
learning almost everything:
what’s trust, what’s hate -
it’s tricky enough with even
the best of guides. Leap
for the treat of truth. Be wary
of walls, who they trap inside.
No comments:
Post a Comment