24 July 08
Letter to a Former Classmate with Down's Syndrome
We sit on chairs
two feet tall, you and I:
pencils in hand
the dust of Castille
sloshed round by
Maria’s swift mop—
Tracing books ready.
Patterns. Sir Alfred’s.
They are lines to worlds
galaxies
words
and, you and I,
we trace them.
My line wobbles but
I clench my fist round
my pencil and,
readysetgo, follow the lines.
Your almond eyes
wander, yet focused, and your
staff
follows unscripted calls,
out of order, explores,
it’s Breaking the
Rules.
A new dance.
Be kind, Teacher said.
Your name is now lost.
But if I could return,
dear friend, and be not
just kind
but
learn
from your uncharted brain
hows and whys of
breaking the rules:
fortysomething years on,
the universe
might hold just a little
more sense.
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. . . or anyway we might try to hold a little less!
:-) Lovely.
A moving evocation of past time and regret.
This works entirely. I love wander / uncharted / breaking the rules vs. readysetgo / lines. Very evocative both of childhood and of the narrator’s adult remorse.
I love this, especially the rule-breaking.