a poem from the point of view of a small boy during a war-time era. (intended as WWII) |
Joey was my best friend’s brother. He would play stickball with us in the street and we would fight over whose turn it was to have him on our team. He was the one who got us up before dawn to show us the best place to watch the sun come up. Where slanting light butters the branches a soft gold in the summer and sets them aflame in the fall, and thin paint strokes of cloud glow with a rosy hue against a creamy sky. I loved to watch the shadows melt away as sunlight crept into every crevice. It was beautiful but I didn’t say so. Boys didn’t say that. Joey didn’t mind when we tagged along to the movies. He wasn’t even mad when I dropped the popcorn because the movie was a lot scarier than I had thought. And he didn’t tease me when I covered my ears and squeezed my eyes shut for the rest of the film. But Joey’s not here right now. He said it was his duty to go away and he left on a great grey ship bigger than anything I had ever seen. I stood on the dock squeezed between all the grown-ups to wave good-bye and watched until the ship was out of sight. Everyone else left but I stayed there on the dock. Maybe I would stay here until he came home. Because he promised that he would come home. He promised. |