Poetic Journal Year 166 B.E.

166.51** Remains of a juvenile delinquent

Note: in constant reedit. Earlier edited version in blog entry: Now a separate r/r item: "Remains of a juvenile delinquent" 

Remains of a juvenile delinquent

         after Anna Lisa

Come see these scrapings
words she carved in antique wood,
all that's left of a bored young girl
knife-whittled
while she ignored the teachers,
not listening to their meaningless lies.

Look back in time
and see this deaf-mute child
carve her name
into this old school desk.

Say she proved her existence to you.
Pray that someday someone cared.
Tell her you recognize how hard
she tried to be your savior.

Know she loved you,
never blamed you,

only needed you to take her hand,
remove the blade,
gently stroke her palm against your cheek

like the way she'd teach her yet-to-be-born son.

© Kåre Enga [166.51] 2009-05-09

Note: this poem is inspired and gleaned from a blog entry by AL :

Come and see me, my words are carved in old antique wood, all that is left are the scrapings of a bored juvenile delinquent with a knife, not listening to the teacher, not listening to meaningless things.

I am a deaf and mute child carving my name, with my knife, onto my school desk.

Maybe my carving will prove my existence, maybe someday someone will care, and recognize how hard I try to be your savior.

I love you, I would never blame you for anything, if I ever do I am mistaken, if I do I am a child, and in that case I don't need punishment, I don't need anyone to slap my face because I have slapped theirs, I need someone to take my hand and gently stroke it against their cheek, like the way I taught my son.

My son. My son is the most beautiful boy who has ever existed.

In Anna Lisa's entry: "Invalid Entry"  [2009-05-09]