He Wondered If What He Had Taken

He Held My Hand And Told Me A Story About When He Was Six And Threw A Rock At A Kid's Head Who Was Bullying His Brother, And How After That No One Had Bothered Either Of Them Again. 'you Have To Stick Up For Yourself,' He Told Me. 'but It's Bad To Throw Rocks,' I Said. 'i Know. You're Smarter Than Me. You'll Find Something Better Than Rocks.

So Many Words Get Lost. They Leave The Mouthand Lose Their Courage, Wandering Aimlessly Until They Are Swept Into The Gutter Like Dead Leaves. On Rainy Days You Can Hear Their Chorus Rushing Past.

When At Last I Came Upon The Right Book, The Feeling Was Violent: It Blew Open A Hole In Me That Made Life More Dangerous Because I Couldn't Control What Came Through It.

I Walked Down My Snow Covered Street. Out Of Habit I Turned And Checked For My Footsteps. When I Arrived At My Building I Looked For My Name On The Buzzers. And Because I Know That Sometimes I See Things That Aren't There, After Dinner I Called Information To Ask If I Was Listed.(25)

I Do Realize That The Reader Needs Some Form Of Resolution. Sometimes I Think Of It Almost Like Writing A Musical Score Where Things Have To Harmonize And Certain Lines Have To Come To A Close.