So Becoming

A circle becomes a circle,

so becoming. The voice that we become,

so becoming. I remember a time

back before time before I heard winter’s whisper

November trees. And a circle

has to remain a circle while we

can find ourselves in campers down by the river

with our family. While we can get so scared

of losing that beautiful brown bass that we pull it ashore

rather than reel it in, so much in fear.

And what do we become. Who we are.

But a child touches the hand of time and pauses it.

A child carries stones to the edge of a fence

on another day spent and remembered.

But I had lessons to learn and voices to carry.

I hope you don’t mind. I saw an opportunity

and saw my responsibility. I replaced toys with responsibility.

A social worker came to my hospital bed.

I had been hurt from – when I can tell – between

Kindergarten and the beginning of First grade.

That is when the scar appeared on my face in pictures.

In ’67. A social worker came to my hospital bed.

When my father came into town I was told that I said to him,

but I don’t think I could speak… doesn’t it make your heart sad.