Growing Pains

The boughs kept me safe from these growing pains.
The boughs – strong and wise,
Held me in their arms,
Told me “Fret not; the best is soon to come.”

My mother made certain I ventured nowhere near these growing pains.
Oh, my mother of the jungle
Of the heat
Of the birds and the waterfalls,
Her words slurred with a rich South American spice,
And her eyes luminous as the golden brooch
That she polished every Sunday before bed,
I remember.
But I recall also the thick, foggy nights
When the cruel sirens blared and the lights – bright, blinding lights,
Beamed through my curtained window,
The crimson and azure tinting the drapery.
Ensconced in the warmth of my mother’s arms ever so tightly
Would my sister and I be;
And there would we remain.

Mickey Mouse protected me from these ruthless growing pains.
Mickey, who ate, played, slept, and even smiled with me,
Who held my hand just as I held his,
Who kept me grinning when there was nothing but fear
All about me,
This I recall.
But more persistent in my memory
Is the dense, black stink of nicotine and body odor
And the raspy voices of the same no-good men
Criminals
Thieves
Who loitered by the corner store that Mickey and I loved.
In his worn, marker-stained hand, Mickey held my own.
He pulled me closer, into his arms,
And I would grin.

The boughs kept me safe from these growing pains.
The boughs – the ones I loved,
Held me in their arms,
Told me “Fret not; the best is soon to come.”