Winner: Poem of the Week: September 4, 2005
Fetching Leaves
by ninian
A week of rain has me feeling trapped so,
I pack the camera and you,
a small boy not quite five,
into the car, despite your protests,
setting off out of the city.
The rain mists windshield and the wipers beat
a metronome for the quiet song on the radio.
You press your forehead to the cold window
and watch the river. The silence at the old stone
church is eerie. We pause at the gates,
holding hands, then start to walk the graveyard.
You explore, and I read the tombstones aloud.
I let you wander ahead, listening to the inner voice
that keeps me from over-protecting until
my heart stops at a headstone
1848-1852
and I call your name. You turn to see
I haven’t moved, smile and continue.
My hair is a wild thing unfettered,
wind-whipped around my face
hiding my tears. Your eyes of wonder
admire the cracks in the wall, trace numbers
in the tombstones with your small finger,
counting; while I trace the numbers
in my mind and pray for your future.
My camera hangs lifeless around my neck.
Our only pictures of the day captured
in the minds of a small boy,
not yet five,
and his mummy.
© Ninian
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