The child inside of me crawled out of my mouth
& ate Mott’s applesauce, using the foil lid as a spoon.
I asked how did you think I did today & he told me
to go fuck myself & I said what do you mean & also
don’t say things like that & he said I can say whatever
I want & also why would you keep me here if I can’t
say whatever I want to you & I nodded & I said
you’re right, child who I keep inside of me, you’re right,
& he finished his applesauce & folded the foil into
a perfect square that he folded once more into
a triangle & he looked at me real serious in the way
that only a child can – I mean, his face really scrunched
up – & he said you know, I thought you’d still be
playing hopscotch with the shadows, I thought
you’d still do that thing when you make your arms
really short & pretend you’re a dinosaur, I thought
a lot of things would be true that just aren’t true
anymore & to be honest I’m disappointed, & I said
you’re right, & I nodded, & he was jamming his finger
in his ear & he seemed so concerned, & I looked
out the window & thought of something I hadn’t done,
a single number I forgot to put on a document somewhere,
& I looked back at the child & he was pouting at me
& he said you don’t do it anymore & I said what & he said
you don’t graze your fingers along the bricks when
the light touches them & makes them gold & you
hardly smile to yourself & I know this because when you
smile then I smile too & he was sad & I was about to answer
though I don’t know what I was going to say because
he was right about everything as a child often is but then
he said can I interrupt you & I said go ahead, if you want
to interrupt, you don’t have to ask, & he said do you
remember when our dad drove us to the hospital
to see our mom & the wind blew his hat off his head
& under a car & you both laughed as you tried to find
it, & he had his feet up – the child did – as he was saying
this, & I said yes, & I was crying because I remembered,
& I kept saying yes, because I did remember, because
the wind was so strong that day & it made my father’s hair
look like tall grass atop a tiny field & I was so scared
& I hadn’t yet experienced the delicate & terrifying
sensation of knowing – in a piercing, shattering moment –
that the people you love will go away one day & will
sometimes hurt you, & I know my dad was scared too,
but he did that laugh he does when the whole world
shakes even though he doesn’t laugh like that anymore
& my mom was sick but she got better & my dad was strong
but he got weak & it’s funny how that happens,
& he was holding me, the child was, which is what I say
when I am holding myself, which I have to do sometimes
when I get scared, which I always am, even now, as I am
saying this, yes, I do this thing where I put my arms around
myself & squeeze & close my eyes & wish the thoughts away
except for those days long ago when I would play hopscotch
with the shadows, where I’d open my hand to hold the light.
