Poetry |
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By Sarah-Jane Parker
Submitted Dec 08, 2006 |
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We went to Bantam Woods to find ourselves
Amongst the aging fire of leaves,
Our wet toes where beetled crayfish delve
Freckled fingers round each other weaves.
Luke’s flannel flashed black and red,
Smelling of deer and shanty smoke.
A journey for leagues, we said.
“I love you more than baseball”, he spoke.
At six going on seven we withdrew;
His parents fought and drank too much.
His secret bruises only I knew,
But my family’s move meant I would leave his clutch.
We didn’t get away that autumn day.
Luke always felt leaving was the only way.
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