Playing there is what came to mind
when you told me to think of a time
when I had no regrets and no worries.
My sandbox was in the shade.
All around me, sickness was in a
muddy crescendo. Dad left Mother,
but I thought I still had friends to play
with and would never come in for dinner.
Mother’s anger was starting a journey,
an 11-year eruption, and now I know,
on the other side of bricks and sturdy,
metal-framed windows there was a sanitarium
with no doctor, and the trees that shaded
the sandbox smelled strongly of vicious
poison, and they dropped gooey stuff
in my sandbox so there was a creeping
psychosis amongst my Tonka toys, but I
had not been trained how to properly worry,
and I sat there, getting more and more sick
over any measurable period of time, until
I blended with the tree parts and the sand to
make the most grotesque soup, and when
the soup started to boil, I learned how to worry
and learned how to hate myself, and then, only
then, fit into the sanitarium with appropriate
manners. I remember the expensive, light
blue rugs giving me false comfort.
#1 by Carl D'Agostino on July 31, 2013 - 3:10 pm
How did you know such things about me ?
#2 by Carl on August 7, 2013 - 6:07 am
Isn’t that interesting, Carl? Thank you for your comment.
#3 by Hudson Howl on July 31, 2013 - 3:43 pm
This one will evoke or provoke. Who knew there was a correct and incorrect way in which to worry. The art is strong here, I think, don’t you?
#4 by Carl on August 7, 2013 - 6:08 am
Thank you, Hudson. If the art is strong, I am grateful.
#5 by Michele Seminara on July 31, 2013 - 11:46 pm
Wow Carl, powerful writing. So well done.
#6 by Carl on August 7, 2013 - 6:09 am
Thank you, Michele. I appreciate your visit and your comment.
#7 by Erik Andrulis on August 5, 2013 - 8:54 am
I’m with Michele. That was an well-crafted looking glass into your very being.
#8 by Carl on August 7, 2013 - 6:10 am
Thank you, Erik. I appreciate your comment and am grateful for your reaction.
#9 by clinock on August 6, 2013 - 12:33 am
deeply disturbing but oh so glorious – your words…
#10 by Carl on August 7, 2013 - 6:12 am
Thank you, John. You are very kind and I appreciate your comment.
#11 by Jamie Dedes on August 13, 2013 - 10:15 am
Hard time – childhood – for anybody, but yours seemed particularly so. You did, however, turn it into an excellent poem. Small comfort though, I would imagine.
Carl, this is almost gothic in its ability to disturb with it’s child’s eye view.
#12 by Carl on August 14, 2013 - 10:56 am
There were hard times but there were beautiful times too. I don’t have enough talent to write about the beautiful times. Growing up with an alcoholic as a parent has its own challenges. Thanks for your comment, Jamie. I want to learn about how I can bring more of that gothic style into the writing because it feels natural if not overplayed…