Processing 7

My story
Written of war
How can a child
Write of war?
Every night
On the screen
Flickering
Images of body bags
Children tossing bombs
How could I not write?
Accused of stealing the story
I argued back.
It was my story.
But I didn’t write again
For five years then
Again for twenty.
I lost myself in their stealing
Of my truth.

Music alive to every
Molecule, every
Atom of me.
My music
A symphony of
Trees, water, sky and stars.
Oboes, clarinets, flutes
Interweaving dancing
With violins
Layers of sound
Layers of color
Children cannot write music.
I did not compose again
For twelve years and then
Not symphonies.
Music stolen must be set free
There is so much music
I lost myself in their incomprehension
Of my truth.

Trees and woodlands
Too dangerous for children
Water, lakes and creeks,
Too dangerous for children
Horses, soft muzzles,
Hot breath blowing
On my face
Running, jumping
Too expensive for children.
Touching life, smelling life,
Hearing life
Too dangerous for children
They took all my love
And left me hiding
Not touching their world
Not allowed mine.
They stole
My truth.

All my truth
taken

I think they did not mean it.
I think they did not know.
I think they are stuck themselves.
Their own dreams lost or stolen.

I want my dreams back.

Leaping with horses
Leaping through words
Leaping through magical tones
Leaping through light

I sing MY body electric
I take MY road less traveled
A rose is a rose is lost

Cannot dwell on the lost
Cannot dwell in the past
Cannot dwell swimming in pain
Cannot dwell without stars

Why are people so alone
Because they steal
And haven stolen they hoard
And what they cannot have
They withhold from all

Do they?

Processing 6

tiny tiny tiny
small small small
big stupid body
longing for small
be a polka dot
be a cell
a molecule
atom proton dancing
armadillo self

poor dumb body
draws attention
finger thrumping
on anything
bottom skutching
rocking
sniffling nose
can’t breathe

body is too big
when I reach for small
body is too small
when eternal electric waves
call me out

arms stretched out
stretch stretch stretch
big thin evaporating
my molecules dancing
singing
with air molecules
with Light


poor dumb stupid body
I will reach past you
join the tingling
music of light
sparkies

CarolAnn
Stop daydreaming
Read page sixteen

what?

(quiet—
stupid
too big
too small
stupid body—

red face
red me
fast heart
tears sneak out)

be free

when?

Processing .5

I have words now
Oh yes, fifth grade words
No one listens to them

A new Tree, maple
Awesome twirly things
Play with sparkies in
The air

Play is screaming
Play is chaos color
Play is dumb

Bird sings above
Look, delight of glittering
Greens, bright sky blue poking through
True hide-and-seek

He comes from nowhere
He is not in my somewhere
Punch
Stunned
Hate on such a young face
No explanation

Teacher:
What did you do?
Why did he hit you?

No words from me
Boy spits
You are so weird

Stomach pain
No breath
Even the Tree cannot heal
Bell rings
Torture briefly
Ends

To be continued..

Processing .4

Screams high pitched
Piercing invasion
Come and play
No way

Chaotic colors
Blur no sense
No pattern
Screams
Pushing Falling Little People

The swing calls
Others command it
I cannot answer

I sing to the pine
A broken crackle
Invaded here
Smashed
A name, not mine
Intent understood
No sniffle!
Pushed

“Aren’t laughing children adorable?”

Acorns smack my head
Someday I will teach
I will teach Tree singing

Not today

Today eyes
Water pine
Just a little

( photo from fiveprime.org)

Processing 2

Finger
Mine
Miracle
Gray brown
Bark
Becomes me

What smell
Wet
New leaf
So bright
Touching it
Hurts until
I grasp it softly.

Voices blend
Wind
Tree boughs
Bird calls
Spring peepers
Plane! Shiny!
Voices
Gurgling water
So pretty
Voices
Found.

Why
didn’t
you
answer
us?

And leave
The joy
Of exchange
Vibrating
Color softness?

I go with
The voices
The Tree
Inside me
Deflects the pain.

Processing .1

I am behind my wall
The angered think they see me
They cannot touch me
Not with their red wounded hands

Phooshing air moves with
A paddle, a wooden spoon, a yardstick
Anger is a noise
My wall is dense, muffling

I watch from inside
Wasn’t I cute once
Anger is black, red forgetfulness
I am the Cause
I am my own fault

So small so far away
A worm, a bug of fear
Tickles layers of skin
Deep in the shadows I lurk
I dive into metal self

Anger surprises
Fear repels
Why should I respond
Can song words change them
Change the battering

Words from the outside become noise

No answer
Light flickers but not
Like sun through shiny leaves
Light shrinks
Small hole, mouse versus viper

I can be still so still
Invisible to myself
Still present to the wounded wounders

The strap, the yelling
Be still, be small
Make it go away

Can happiness be found in black?

Processing

These are a series of poems about childhood. For the first time I am sharing about the pain. Each unit of Processing is a specific memory, but not in chronological sequence.