To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
At the Lake In the Summer At one end of the lake there was a weeping willow tree. Behind it a dirt path that led to a hollow thicket under the tree. My friends and I played a game far away from parents and the older kids we ran naked through the hollow under the weeping willow. The game made sense to us, although I suppose it looked strange to my father as he strode up the dirt path toward the hollow calling my name. A dozen naked children scurried for their clothes as my father pushed his way through the cover of leaves, striding, striding calling out my name. Intruding into our lives, my life, in a place he had no right to be my father pushed his way through the protective coat of green leaves. Striding, striding, calling out my name. The others ran away and I was left alone and trembling in my nakedness while he strode and called out for me. He could not see me. What made him look for me there? Striding, calling out my name my father emerged from the underbrush as I pulled up my pants. I smiled sheepishly at him and he looked confused. I went with him out of the thicket. What made him look for me there? Today I remember him lying in his coffin with the pancake makeup on his face and want to ask, “Oh Daddy, is it so wrong for a child to run naked through the woods?” |
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!