Jan Steckel USA
The Wind and the Boy
The wind blows in. The wind blows
through.
The boy tumbles in like leaves and
dirt.
How do you make a tree? Can I play
the piano?
What is this? Can I have one?
Can you get me some juice?
It’s a Santa Ana wind, a forest-fire
wind.
What are you doing? Working.
Can you play soccer with me? Maybe
later.
There’s a snake skin on the wall.
It rattles like a diamondback,
but it’s only the wind in the
blinds.
A face inserts itself between my
computer and me.
Are you making calls for Obama?
Are you working? Am I bothering you?
Are you getting tired of me?
No more tired of you than I could
tire of the wind.
The six-year-old fingers the dream
catcher
hanging from my reading-rack.
What’s it for? It catches bad dreams
and keeps them away from me.
Do you have bad dreams? I ask.
He shakes his head no.
There’s a scar on his forehead.
He strokes green feathers in the
web’s middle.
Are these the dreams? You can’t see
the dreams,
I tell him, like you can’t see the
wind.
You only see what the wind blows in.
The boy leaves goldfish crackers in
couch cracks.
Candy wrappers in the car door. A
juice box.
An acorn. Crayon pictures of
monsters.
If your mama pushed you off the bed,
he asks,
and gave you a scar, would you still
love her?
I don’t know, I say. Would you?
He shakes his scarred head.
Wind whips the trees.
The wind and the boy,
the boy and the wind.
First appeared in Street Spirit,
December 2008
Included in The Horizontal Poet
(Zeitgeist Press, 2011)
© Copyright, 2013,
Jan
Steckel. |