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A Boy's Mourning Reverie
by James Shammas (Age: 44)
copyright 02-19-2005


Age Rating: 7 to 127

 
He tripped upon a hare lying on its side.
Poking it with a clean long stick,
He asked if this is what being dead is like.
The shovel, swung over his shoulder,
Framed his head like a halo,
And marching down the hill,
He looked like a soldier dragging a wounded buddy.

When his arms couldn't crack the frozen dirt,
He set it down, kneeling over it,
Encircling it with smooth round stones
Topped with the greenest leaves he could find.
I asked what it was,
And with cocked head and pursed lips,
He called it 'an arrangement.'

It's like he's done this before,
Resting upstairs when the work is done,
Surrounded by Leggos and Lincoln Logs,
Assembled, dismantled-- arrangements askew,
Dozing as the pieces fall from tired hands,
Hugging me, a bear, or a bunny,
Stroking our streaks of gray-white hair.

That's when his silhouette dances,
Thrown high by the nightlight flickering.
You can feel him fidget then,
His slow gaze out the bedroom window,
A reaching arm, reaching out
To constellations he calls arrangements,
Like funeral pyres in a burning sky.




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03-19-2005 Mary -BrytEyz- Ball    

Again, out of the mouths of babes, eh? Sometimes they say the most profound things, don't you think?

I was taken aback by a couple things my boys once said and wrote about it in a poem called "Turn Down The Sun" (found at http://www.prose-n-poetry.com/display_work/13712)

I'd love to know what you think of it. Your comments are always so insightful. :-)
02-28-2005 David Pekrul    

I think this is a great write. Kids are amazing and it's neat to see how they react to situations.

I'm having a hard time understanding the last line. Somehow it must fit in with the rest of the piece, but my mind can't get around it. Maybe you could explain.

Thanks,
David Pekrul
Visitor Reads: 390
Total Reads: 402
Comments: 2

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