Bark he found under
the apple blossoms as we walked
down the hill to school
and when he crams it,
as big as his hand, in his pocket
I ask what else? Finger knitting on thick
white yarn, a long swath,
the yarn ball, a broken
rubber band. He shows too a whole
rubber band as pale
pink as the blossoms
stuck to our shoe bottoms.
How will people read you I wonder? I say to my son
hair too long, pants too short,
who closes his bedroom door.
An eraser, a rock, two coins
one with a rim newly printed
one with a woodchip on a string
superglued to the eagle
he doesn’t explain. I want to know, he says, ask them who I am, who they think I am.
Deborah Bacharach is the author of After I Stop Lying. Her work has appeared in The Antigonish Review, Arts & Letters, Cimarron Review, and Literary Mama among many others. She is an editor, teacher and tutor in Seattle and teaches poetry workshops for children.