Life Stages
by Liz Ciampa
Today I walk through the city's common, which,
When I was a little girl walking back and forth
To Catholic elementary school, was a forgotten playground
Of dust and dirt left over from a public school
Of crumbling brick: a school that soon would close.
But today, its pruned walkways and lush grass surround me
As I walk to our library with some overdue books on poetry.
On my way, to my left, I notice a boy of barely one.
It's clear he just learned to walk. He toddles uncertainly,
But with increasing speed, towards me. His father watches
From a nearby bench. I look straight again and see a bearded man
Of inscrutable age: he could be twenty-five, he could be forty-five,
Strange though that sounds. His slanted gait allows him only to hop
And hobble down the pebbly white walkway in my direction. I look
To my left and see the still-toddling boy in his tiny baseball cap.
He halts and stares, waiting to see what I will do. Of course,
I wave and smile, smile and wave, as I walk. I wait to see
The inevitable slow grin widen like a tiny rubber band on his little face.
Dad approves. He waves too. Now I look straight, and the man with the beard
Has seated himself on a bench to my upcoming right. He stares as well.
I think: there is a lot going on inside that head that is not of this world,
But he is harmless. I wave at him too, not wanting to exclude him. Then I wonder if
Anyone has said hello to this man today, or this week. Now he is alert,
His brown eyes wide, focused. He acknowledges my wave with this:
"There are good days, and there are bad days. You know?"
I walk, nod my head, and say, "Oh yes. I know."
(Ciampa, Liz. Good for Everyday Use. Boston, MA: Big Table Publishing Co., 2012. Pp. 14-15. Print.)
Liz,
ReplyDeleteBeautiful poetry filled with sensitive images of recollections of human interaction on a stroll to the library! Love the last two lines.
Thank you, Lauraine! That walk in the common was an inspiring experience!
ReplyDeleteLiz,
ReplyDeleteLove the way you contrast the Common then and now and the child just beginning with the man with a history. Insightful ....
Gail, thank you. For me, one funny thing about writing poems is that I realize things like that only after the piece is written! It pours out and only later does some deeper meaning reveal itself...somehow. A mystery.
ReplyDelete