A poem about a strong man who was made weak. |
In the cabinet at Papa’s house there were band-aids dozens of them bright orange and florescent pink and a cool blue that I would put on my doll’s knees to fix her boo-boos just like my Papa did for me. only my hands pushed too hard or got tangled up or made a scratch not like my Papa’s, keeping me together when I got hurt rocking me to sleep his warm voice telling tales of oompa-loompas and chocolate. sometimes he would bring me cookies chocolate cookies or oatmeal cookies sometimes I fell asleep before I ate them, but he never cared it doesn’t matter, he would say I just wanted to bring them to you. and I would fall asleep dreaming of his voice, soft and gentle, his flannel shirts, his wool socks he wore at bedtime. I thought I knew every inch of him. when I thought there was a monster in the basement he was there and I knew he was stronger than any monster he and his strong knees that would bounce me up and down trot-ole joe, trot-ole joe and whoops! he would drop me but his safe arms always caught me before I hit the ground his referee cards: red yellow stop, go, stop, go my little hands darting in and out of his pockets and the fake dog barking downstairs softly, quietly, a ‘you’re safe’ sound even though it wouldn’t hurt a soul he taught me how to play soccer and how to use a saw in the little red barn he let me organize all of his nails with crooked handwriting and misspelled words he smiled when I rolled down the hill and got all muddy and then he did it too he held my hand when Margie died he held my heart when I came home crying his warm grip felt like it would never leave but then, one morning I woke up and all the band aids were ripped up gone worthless. all of a sudden he wasn’t there and I was supposed to have the band-aids the answers I was supposed to scare away the monster and I knew I couldn’t do it His voice smelled of worry and hospital and... helplessness. he needed me but I wasn’t there couldn’t be the monster was too big. and when he finally makes it into the bathroom to look for a band-aid, he’ll find that only one is left and it’s broken. but all the same, he’ll put it on my leg. I’ll try to brush it off because because I’m scared that he might be ripped away from me again and then I’ll freeze freeze because the world is so cold so empty so hard and I’m so… hurt, an open wound that needs cream but doesn’t want it because it’s easier to just dry up but then I pull the band-aid closer to me because sometimes I just get too cold to be alone and I need him again I want him back, and a broken band-aid is better than none. and besides, he’ll tell me, I just wanted to put it on you. |