Chapters from Guilt, Beans, and Broken Bones
In One we met on a kindergarten playground.
The colors were primary
and so were we.
In Two I stuck out my foot to trip you
just to see what you would look like
as you fell.
I didn’t want to know you had broken your arm.
In Three I sat practicing my crude handwriting
while you were borne off by a swarm of adults
to the nurse’s office.
In Four you came to school in a cast
and I came in a car,
neither healed nor whole.
In Five we sat across from each other
pretending to count beans to learn
All I learned was numbness.
In Six the teacher said it was snack time.
She said not to eat our beans by accident,
but I wanted to.
And tried to.
Which made you laugh.
In Seven I gave you my animal crackers,
and you let me doodle my forgiveness on your cast,
the stick-figure story
of guilt, beans, and broken bones.