Friday, September 18, 2009

My brother...

I didn't know why she came for me.
Every Thursday for as long as I could remember.
Why me and not my brother?

She always took me for ice cream and then to the park.

Even at 5, I tried to understand what she wanted.
I tried to answer her questions without telling her my secrets.

And at the end of every visit, I'd get more and more scared, waiting...wanting to go home.
Hoping this time, she didn't move us to another home, another family.

Please don't ask us to move again.
Please don't ask us to move again.

After every visit, she'd drive me home.
We'd come around the corner, and I'd hold my breath till I could see him.

Sitting on the steps, waiting.
Right where I'd left him. Holding his paint chipped fire engine.

Always waiting.
Knowing I'd always come back for him.


mommapolitico said...

Wow. MG, I had no idea you were a poet as well - great piece. You're a renaissance woman, no doubt. Very moving piece of work, Girlfriend.

the projectivist said...

oh, you capture that gut wrenching fear so well. x

Monkey Girl said...

Thanks Girls,

I've decided every so often to share small stories of my childhood.

It's been an exciting life so far, and I've always toyed around with writing a memoir.

We'll see.

Jay Ferris said...

your good prose = my sad face

mommapolitico said...

Hey, MG, come on by and pick up your award at MP! You're a smart, funny, and a righteous blogger, girl, and it's time we let the world know!
Take care,