My son, aged 9

I remember you then:
when you ran on air
shoes untied
scraping between fences
behind the back of sheds
bruised with free-fall
not that you knew it
curls stuck to your forehead
in sweet-sweat clam
your moist shirt
on shoulder blade hangers
your arms to hang from
your feet to kick
your legs to race

All through the long day
you bounced skin-rubbing-close
with your trampoline chums
tumbling, hopping,
summersaulting
salting the summer
tickling and giggling,
chasing, dodging …
slumbering: never!

“you’re it”
“no you”
“time out”
“you can’t”
“can, can!”
“let’s play robots”

Wary when adults entered
your world,
intruding with order –
quick to scatter,
but if cornered-
replies came halting
staccato
forced up
from
unfamiliar places.

Your spirit safe
in its body temple.

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3 thoughts on “My son, aged 9

  1. Great memory record Wyon; I assume that this was written some time ago when the memory was fresh. It teems with love and evocative imagery.
    Great job!
    Cheerio
    Jane

  2. thanks to both of you. the boy in question would be mortified to read at the moment of course (he’s 16) but I expect he will come round

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