Childhood
Your first drawing is of the sun
You color it round yellow bright
like the bouncing ball your father gives you
when you are just three What delight
you take in both losing and reclaiming it together
as you run far through the leaves with the sky and the wind
Now he thinks you will remember
what it feels like . . . to hold a world in your hands
Your mother’s world is of a different light She will hold you
in the spell of her song which will assume different shapes At first
you will want to carry it with you wherever you go One day it will
take you to deep places that move you as she fades quietly
like the melody or the more subtle color you use to paint a dream
Your dream is your portal to the world
Drawn through the rainbow of your imagination
it is being colored continually by your perceptions
You will spend most of your childhood in its sphere
Here you polish the moon and shine the stars
and trace your name on fragile glass You wonder
where the blue begins and worry about where it ends
Most of the time you spend waiting
waiting for your father to one day return
waiting for your mother to come tuck you in
waiting for loneliness to leave you alone
The terror of the dark The terror of your song
catching in your throat like a kite in the branches of trees
Later of course there is the terror of stumbling through
entire sentences
of being lost among strangers so tall
you cannot see their faces and
of the hand that once firmly held yours . . . slipping away
Much later of course there is the terror
of losing most of your crayons
______________________________
A former San Francisco Poetry Slam Champion, Antonia Alexandra Klimenko is widely published. Her work appears, among other publications, in XXI Century World Literature (she represents France) and Maintenant: Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing and Art, archived at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, DC, and New York’s Museum of Modern Art. She is Writer/Poet in Residence for SpokenWord Paris. Her collected poems On the Way to Invisible is forthcoming, Spring of 2021.
No comments:
Post a Comment