Gone are brightlit sunny days
street games and long lazy afternoons
half asleep in the lull of flickering images
picking grass and dandelions in the outfield.
Gone sleep warm sheets and satin days
dirty fingers carving paths in the yard
forgotten toy and cars and cares in the yard
spun in place finally swung into sickness.
Gone restless watching fried out days
impatient shuffle shift papers
and tennis shoes on linoleum squeaking freedom
and aching aching to fly home.
Gone tag games through days
thumping basketballs, kicked balls and asphalt
grass stain soccer games
and awkward chasing red rubber on four-square fields.
Gone long past puffed jacket wind days
afternoon milk, reading spelling list scraps
shielded into warm grizzled hugs
shoved aside to splash like sun on cement.
Gone thoughts now of twos’ days
threes’ days, fours in groups with linked hands
and sweaty copper-smell fingers
and hushed important sticky sweet secrets
Gone that hope for mundane days
safe and well tucked memories
of left overs and tall friendly faces
and finger slip flown imagined life.
An elegy is a poem of mourning. Part of the process for me grieving the childhood I didn't have.