Here's a poem I wrote for my good friend's little boy, Anthony, on his "growing up" at six. :)



American Music

Anthony, I remember it all:
Dancing barefoot in your trailer
To the Violent Femmes and your mother's laugh,
Making a snow-beast,
finding the kittens,
You playing with my feet.

I held your hand as we crossed streets
And stepped out of pick-ups.
You laughed when I mimicked Aunt Lillian,
Hugged me every time I left
And remembered me when I returned.

Oh Anthony, I missed a year
And you grew up completely.
You hate the Femmes
And don't like dancing. You find me odd
and go off to watch cable.

You are six
And as old as your mother,
Both of you
Like playmates out of reach, wild things
That wised up and moved on.

Sweet child, I know that growing
Is the biggest part of living.
But please, for that child in you,
That piece of your mother, that bit of the past,
For the dark and the bright and the never,
What your mother lost and your mother dared,
My sweet thing, sometimes,
Dance.


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All works on this site Alicia Bayer unless otherwise noted.
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