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Four-Foot Soldier

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The silence
of mid afternoon
is a hovering breath
before the first
sharp inhale
of school bus
exhaust.

A small boy
stumbles down
the black-footed mountain
hazy-eyed,
hair a disheveled drift
of light brown feathers,
carrying life
across slumped shoulders
and inside a
plastic Spiderman backpack.

Echoes of his day
are clouded glass
I want to reach
back inside it
and find the words
that colored his lips,
the number of
times he drew
his sword against
the young faces
surrounding him--
If he even drew it
at all.

His mouth is set
in a determined line
body tilting forward
like a sapling in a storm
He sees me
the lips rise and part
forming a shape
that cuts through
Time
and suspends struggles
on a long wire
far from where we
stand, all while
the battlefield
fades somewhere below
the march of
Bravery
and the imprint
of his tiny feet…

It’s 3:22 p.m.
and I
welcome home
my four-foot soldier.



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This article has 2 comments. Post your own!

TheSkyOwesMeRainThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jul. 26, 2013 at 11:27 am:
I love your poem, especially since I've never thought of young children this way. :)
 
CoffeeGirl17 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Jul. 28, 2013 at 12:03 pm :
Thank you for your comment!  I appreciate your feedback and am glad to know that I could offer a different perspective :)
 
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