THE CHILD - INNOCENCE

Soccer, Five Years Old


He has a hard time understanding
someone asking him to
“get aggressive” and “fight”
He has fought
to learn peace

He has a hard time caring
About the black and white spinning sphere
Or the swarm of kicking legs
There is an airplane in the sky
Weaving a trail of marshmallows
through the blue
A butterfly almost touched
his upturned face
And halfway down the field he wondered
if you could smell the sun

He tried to tell them
But in the rushing confusion
No one listened

His thoughts are spangled dragons
whirling on the wind
His words are honeyed jewels
His face is thoughtful
sad

Does he already know?
This world is not an easy place
for a poet.


©Edwina Peterson Cross
September 1994