A Child Trying To Fly A Kite On Such A Windless Day. Poem by RIC BASTASA

yesterday
he said, for he is troubled too
like
these times, whatever that means,
we simply keep
that as obvious as a bridge
where we pass
but we do not even mention
its name or
why or how is it,

a survivor because of
pain
or trauma
becomes silenced by
that experience
speechless and looking
far away
farther from us
who are curious and
thirsty

what he needs is
simply to be left alone
so that he can talk
again to himself

peacefully and probing
as he tries to find a
door back to the temple
of his self

the abracadabra is not
working
and if it works
what is found in there
are no longer the
treasures

memories, haunting memories
fright and lots of it
that moment when almost he
decided to quit.

of course, he did not
as you meet him yesterday
on his emaciated self
his skin dangling on his
bones
his fingers still trembling
his eyes as sharp as
a knife always willing to
stab anybody
that comes across his way.

we had just taken dinner
which he did not partake
and then he went his own
way towards the room

opening a door
back to his bed
praying for a nice
dream

a child trying to fly
a kite
on such a windless day.