Childhood Absence Hope Jorgensen
In our childhood, it wasEasier? Better? Simpler? We were kids, playing at kings; Days spent conquesting kingdoms. Our castles were pinecone and mud, Thrones of striped blankets and sticks. I miss you. My early memories of us are cast in sap and amber; A girl of rosy cheeks and wicked brows, A boy who bursts with temper, dampened by sweetness, And the youngest; all crooked teeth and scraped kneesHis sticky fingers catching at our hair, reaching for our hands. Please come back. We didn’t have a home, though; A house with no front door, shrouded by pine trees. Shadows cast thick upon us children, as we crept from room to room, Don’t cast even a toe there, nor thread beyond. We kept to a yellow line across carpet; a warning, No jubilee of toys scattered, contained Like dolls in a plastic case. I can’t return. My soul aches for those days, and yet I would never return. Bittersweet memories will never turn to life. The sister who squabbles and taunts, no longer A child among children, puppies in a crate. They were my responsibility then; my boys now, Who I love more than the pinecones and dirt. I must draw my own yellow line between usAnd say goodbye to you; My childhood.
American Literary Magazine | 130
