Early Bloomers

I remember being 12.

I remember feeling 17 because he was.

I remember touching tobacco for the first time and smelling how soggy it made us.

I remember being 4.

Wanting to be 9 because he was.

Tying my hands with his jump rope because I was the robber and he was the cop.

I remember being 14.

I remember feeling 19 because he was.

I remember swallowing little red pills in the attic of our smoky basement with faces I didn’t recognize.

I remember being 6.

Wanting to be 11 because he was.

Trying to roller-blade so we could race to the dollar store and he’d buy me chewing gum if I won.

I remember being 16.

I remember him not being around.

I remember the caller ID of an unfamiliar area code and an operator speak of “violent inebriation” and dates we could visit.

I remember why.

I remember broken glass shattered on the floor of our hallway.

I remember screaming and then sirens and seeing him stand with his hands behind his back like he would in church or on stage at Christmas concerts. Except this time he had bracelets that were metal and fettered to a chain.

Reviews

[.]

-- the way you close poems is just amazing... -- this is a heartbreaking piece... -- the repetition works really, really well... -- one can almost sense the innocence in the voice of the narrator at different stages of his life... -- the last few lines reveal how vulnerable he would've felt when he had to witness the arrest... -- poetry that has so much time travelling in it is a very intense read...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

wonderful piece....wanting so much to be another, someone we look up to our whole lives, even when it is early on in a short life...until we find out that the person we strive to be most like...is so flawed, we find we are glad to be who we are.

nicely done.

j.