Squatting, serious, His small hand locked on my middle finger, He digs a shallow hole in the earth, buries His "wishing stone," covers it up, Forgets it, maybe. What will he find if he ever comes back to this place? He is older Coarser perhaps his hands already Hardened from holding a gun maybe from stroking the wrong women From labor and money. If he remembers this place the secret Place he has hidden his luck, by the blasted tree by the hidden Pool, by the rock, by the river, in the hollow hill of a cave -- Whatever he finds, it will be his no longer. These little boys can never, never return. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EVIL EASIER THAN GOOD by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 1. THE MARVELLOUS SEED OF LOVE by PHILIP AYRES SPIRITUAL WORSHIP by BERNARD BARTON THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID (MONOLOGUE IN REGARD TO HEREDITY) by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 1. TO WILLIAM, EARL OF PEMBROKE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |