Issue 12

Summer 2014


Surviving Childhood

Some of us were happier recalling
how lady slippers poked up from forest
floors in early spring, like testicular
sacks on stems, even the youngest among
us aware picking them was against the
law, just like the other acts we refrained
from committing, conscious that even when
we were alone, someone was watching.  That’s
the current joke: lonely surrounded by
thousands, though we know each of the many
has his own endangered flower in a
wood somewhere, wanting to be noticed, for
memory is in the way you laugh now compared
to how you did so then with all you have
discovered in between, reluctantly
resisting or eagerly obeying. 
Either way, any of us could have been
pulled from the bicycle that lay pitched to
the side of the road, its back wheel spinning.


Sandra Kolankiewicz