Wednesday, July 16, 2014

the hazy dream

a poem or stream of conscience, really
his world, his way

the hazy dream


in my sleepy dreams, he can speak clearly as any other child

in our hazy wakeful days, he can not

he is blond, and blue eyed and thirteen and he is silent

he smiles, he laughs, he giggles and sometimes frowns
 the way everyone, anyone can understand him

he walks, he runs, he jumps the way everyone, anyone can
 but he doesn't give hugs, he taps his forehead gently to mine

when i ignore his mands, the way a distracted mother would

he frames his face close to mine, and stares intensively into my eyes
 he gets my attention, the way the workers get his

he takes my arm, leads me to his desired tact, but still he cannot say it,
name it, describe the object at the tip of his finger

an approximation is all i will hear, i will struggle to understand,
 i will attempt to form the word for him, to model the sounds

he will smile coyly, he will giggle softly, he will take the thing...
 walk or maybe run to play with it in his imagined way.

And i will smile, i will curse, i will wonder out loud

when will the powers that be, step up their values,
open their minds, reach for his potential

and give him a 'voice' that we can all understand,
everywhere, every time
and if they won't do it, how do i?

before he gives up trying

~ell

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