At my age now: 38
I can look back and remember the times I
Was forced to kneel, SITTING UP, BACK STRAIGHT, NO SLOUCHING
And stare at the living room wall.
I would make a game of it, creating stories within the patterns I would see on
The dried paint. Layers of it. Forming men and women and adventures.
I would do the same at night. It was to escape the pain that would encase me.
I don’t remember the lesson I was suppose to keep, I only
Recall the patterns that were left on my kneecaps from the tile.
I would rise up and take my finger and trace the grooves until they dissipated
And allow myself to get lost in the patterns once more.