your hug reminds me of
shards of promises and stale memories
I asked for none of those
coloring books and hard candies
you gave to keep me busy
quietly I sat
not asking questions you never knew how to answer
without knowledge of the
things you created or
destroyed in me
you know not of the
broken crayons
used to draw your picture
rough and crude on the surface of my thoughts
of lost days when
your imprint rested in the
chair that still resides in our living room
your baseball game echoing through the house
as my brother washed my hands
too small to reach the faucet;
cold, distant - much too far to reach
you were just down the hall
but much too far to reach
too cold and distant
click.
the baseball game has ended
the television turned off
and we were hushed
dried my hands
we were done with that
washed of all of it just knowing
it was all to close a time till when
they would be soiled again.