When I was a child I would lock eyes
With other kids in the back seats of station wagons
As we hurtled down freeways
Or slowrolled through clogged streets
I would lock eyes
Trying to make some kind of psychic connection
Or anticipate a future meeting where decades later
Our eyes would remember
A moment held between us
Briefly as a hummingbird’s visit
When we were young
Looking at the world from inside the safety glass of the family car
It was easy to believe in innocence then
To think that everyone else was as safe as I was
In those days before I knew about torture
About abuse and cruelty
Frequent as the autumn rain
For too many
Now I wonder what happened to them
I try to recollect those faces
Dredged images from ripped memories
Some of those eyes must have been silently shrieking
Calling out for sympathy or salvation
Locked in rolling prisons moving closer to the next indignity
While I was worried about a music lesson I hadn’t practiced for
Or inconsequential bullshit
If I could return to those moments
I wouldn’t challenge fragile eyes with directness
I would look at you obliquely and offer you my passing tears
I would applaud you for carrying on
Holding your head up
As you looked out at a world
That held more sins than miracles
David Trudel © 2013
backseat windows
as a child I would lock eyes with other kids
captive in the back seats of station wagons
hurtling down freeways
or slowrolling through clogged streets
I would lock eyes
trying for some kind of psychic connection
anticipating a future meeting
hoping that decades later
our eyes would remember a moment held between us
briefly as a hummingbird’s visit and just as sweet
when we were young it was easy for me
seeing the world from inside the safety glass of the family car
innocence was as easy as unlocked doors
knowing who lived in each house on the block
and who’s mother made the best cookies
I thought that everyone else was as safe as I was
in those days before I knew about torture
about abuse and cruelty
punches that split skin
and the weight of undeserved guilt
perversions frequent as autumn rain
for too many, too young
too terrible
now, in this future of punched out walls
I wonder what happened to them
I try to recollect those faces
dredged images from ripped memories
some of those eyes must have been shrieking in their silence
calling for sympathy or salvation
locked in rolling hells
moving closer to the next indignity
while I worried about a music lesson I hadn’t practiced for
if I could return to those moments
I wouldn’t challenge fragile eyes with directness
I‘d look at you obliquely and offer you my passing tears
I’d applaud you for carrying on
holding your head up as you looked out at a world
that held more sins than miracles
I would unlock my eyes from the illusion
I would try to see your truth
not mine
David Trudel © 2015
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Tagged as abuse, blank verse, cars, child abuse, childhood, creative writing, creativity, depression, free verse, freeways, guilt, innocence, lost innocence, peace, poetry, sadness, sexual abuse, social activism, social commentary, station wagons, truth, universal peace