Leaving The Fogging Glass

November 15, 2016
By Attica SILVER, Pittsfield, New Hampshire
Attica SILVER, Pittsfield, New Hampshire
8 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Sitting upon the fallen log,
Complaining about our boredom,
Flitting to and from activities like nervous cardinals,
Seeking pastimes to devour.

We were never really happy,
With the time we spent together,
We didn’t know when the wind would carry,
You away from me.

The time we raced into the woods,
Only to become lost,
That time we tried to build,
That fort that fell on you.

Those times when we would grab cookies,
From your grandma,
Then race over to my house,
To feed them to Lily’s cockatoo.

Remember the way you’d run down the hill,
Past the frowning oak tree,
Knocking on the window,
Asking if I could come out and play?

Sometimes, my mom would say, “Go away.”
Sometimes she would let you in and we’d play together,
We’d hit one another with sticks,
Until one of us cried.

Maybe if she had known,
That you would never come back,
If she had known that you’d soon be swept away,
On that long river called life.

Maybe she’d have let you in,
Maybe she’d have let us play,
Just five more minutes,
Five minutes to make memories that day.

I remember the last time you rapped on the window,
The frost fogging the icy glass window,
You nose, red as a cherry, dripping like a leaky faucet,
Smiling and warming your hands.

That time you seemed so persistent,
So adamant to come in,
I almost didn’t go to the movies that night,
And leave you to the fogging glass.

You never told me what went on,
You never told me of your tears,
I never heard a complaint,
As long as you were here.

But still, I sent you away,
Thinking that I would see you later,
Thinking you’d be there tomorrow,
The next summer perhaps.

They never told me what happened to you,
I found out on my own,
My little playmate,
My best friend.

I didn’t see your dad for years,
I was told he had gone to see the doctor,
That he was going crazy,
That you had to run.

Your mother took you away,
They said that she drove your father off the edge,
I didn’t know where you were,
Until I heard your grandpa utter “Florida”.

I know you’re not coming back,
Not until you're free,
Of the bondage your mother has set,
Fixating your steel cage.

They say you’re very handsome now,
That you’re doing well,
That you have have a girlfriend now,
In the land down below.

I can’t help but wonder,
If I’ll get to see you again,
I’ve just about forgotten you,
The memory of my past.

You mother’s face is a mystery,
You’re blurring now,
But I know that not what truly matters,
That’s not what I should keep.

Rather the memory of those moments,
At the joy which filled our times,
The way you made me cry,
Then hug me and help me up.

I can’t help but hope,
That you’ll come back one day,
To rap upon the window,
On one wintery day.

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