He was born with seven fingers, a cleft palate,
Blind, deaf, dumb. Senseless really.
She babied him until he was nineteen
Where the flies played tag
And the moths batted the screen
And a fan whispered, “Gooooooooooooooooooo!”
She had seven sons, well, six.
The seventh was not an enemy but an anomaly
That ticked like a clock the family drew round
To watch the sun move across his stiff bed sheets.
A cocoon-child, whose very name bespoke service.
Beneath the blankets, beneath the skin,
Beneath the brittle curling bones
Was a reason she chirped good mornings,
Brought in flowers to the beside
And threw the bedroom window open
To cheer the room, and kiss the night air goodnight.
From there, she went to her bedroom,
Threw herself down on the mat by the bed
And begged to know the reason.
Year after year, she told him stories of heaven,
Although she no longer believed in one.
A butterfly, wide, orange and promising
Lit on the pillow by his face
Just as the sun moved over to see his face.
The tender feelers touched her boy's brow.
She saw a smile, the first one ever.
And the Monarch lifted him up and carried him
Into the wide and blue. It was done.
The curtains shushed her as she drew to see
Her hope slip off on another’s wings.
Author notes
This is mostly true. When I was a child, my mother's friend had a secret she kept in a front bedroom where it would get more light.
Written May 28th, 2006
In a list
A contest entry
- Senselessness by JM Kenyon.
300 points, ended June 2, 2006, 5 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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Congrats for your Bronze.
Best wishes,
manoj -
although I was very young, I remember when she had the baby and i remember seeing him a few times before he was one, but then, in her grief, she kept him home. We used to be invited as a girl's group to go give service to her. We would help tidy the house, do the yeard, weed her garden, and other small things girls could do. She was the loveliest lady and we loved to do things for her. It was my first experience with someone else's handicapped child. I grew up with a handicapped adopted step-sister. Later, I focused my whole career on working with challenged children and youth. perhaps it was her dedication.
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A very sad, sad write. Though a senseless existence seems a cruel fate in any light... it seems as the boy in this poem probably had a life worth living, thoughts of his own, completely his own without the stain of outside opinion of suggestion. Though we depend on our senses to relay messages of affection... do we really need them? He would have known her even without his senses... because she gave him life, over and over and over again. In return, though some might look at it as a burden, he gave back to anyone and everyone he took care of him in his life... he gave her a reason and everyone else would be hard pressed not to have a profound appriciation for the living experience they derrive through their senses.
A moving and excellent write.
s and best wishes... ~genie~
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Thank you, rowan. Sometimes some things simply jog the memory.
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This is beautifully sad, and it made me weep, there was alot of people that hid their secrets like this back then. I just loved the ending line..absolutely beautiful! Bravo!
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