The Return

An old shame has knocked on the door

to make remembrance dance painfully

With each footstep it is silly to feel

the growing of it that is best

turned over to an erasable yesterday

Father's parents are coming to visit

They are sitting on the patio

in padded redwood chairs

waiting for the grandchildren

to greet them since they rarely cross town

The one child missing from the greeting

is having trouble finding pants to wear

because they don't properly fit

as buttons won't button and zippers won't zip

these pants too small on a growing child

Eventually the mother takes an arm

to pull him out into the summer night

in a t-shirt and underwear

Grandmother says it doesn't matter

Grandpa smiles through his gold wire glasses

The hugs aren't remembered if given

That's what should be important

No amount of erasing will wipe away

the truth of these embarrassments

It is truth that begs its writing

Such moments return with a lowered head

even when years are suppose to drop

away as a child grows to manhood

then into the aged years grass of the path

of a man is worn away beneath his feet

It is the child inside who feels a failure

The adult also lets such emotions drain

into the same pot that becomes

so overwhelming no amount of self-advising

will knock down the castle of shame

If only hugs could free ourselves in a family

that rarely hugged or held a hand

Reassurance and forgiveness at any age

wipes away all of the dark stains

the created imaginations of a fleeing child

That child is still running to the unknown

to beg for a moment of unfiltered kindness

as he cries for all the times he paused

to hold his self reflected in smaller socks

running around the home he left behind

Barry G. Wick