A Childhood Peeking
a golden shovel inspired by Sufjan Stevens’ “Fourth of July”
by Benjamin Rigby
We stay late feeling forced to
make
up time lost in desires untamed as
the
shame of pride taken away spreads
most
across our bodies, small and delicate, made
of
marker stains, blue-red and scraped knees
your
other friends didn’t receive. Snapshots of this
life
fade into view when I hear mourning doves call
while
lawn clippings fly and hose water streams down my back.
It
pushes forward memories I only get secondhand; Who
is
That Boy in the lime-green cast? With crutches
rife
digging into his flanks as the other boys question him
while
they hang from monkey bars. Do the girls whispering near wonder how
it
feels? I wish that little boy was here still and stuck perfectly as he
is,
I want to explain how he already has what people want:
light