Joe Ricotta | How To Hold The Sun Poem by Joe Ricotta

dying grass caressing a child's neck,
laying down under the bristling trees
a crooked rainbow pinwheel spinning gently
the child grips the bark of the tree
tenderly traces the outlines of the clouds
and inhales the scent of the emerald leaves,
positioning his fingers
so that he holds the blinding sun in his hands

i miss when i could stretch out on the grass
when i still wondered why the sky was blue
when the pinwheel was magic
when i traced the clouds
when i could hold the sun in my hands

i could hold the sun in my hands
but i've forgotten how

i used to watch the clock's ticking seconds with fascination
my blanket could protect me from anything
are there equal number of sprinkles on each cupcake?
the floor used to be lava as i leapt from chair to chair
the moon used to follow me home every night

i miss these things
i watch my childhood through a fuzzy television screen
pressing my fingers against the box
longing to return
but

the image fades
the memories disappear
the static screen shatters my heart

i turn off the tv
and i walk to the window
lift it up
and then feel the wind blow
gazing at the glimmering amethyst sunset

i curve my finger and trace the deep clouds gracing the horizon
eyes squinted partially
my hand passes over the dropping sun
i slowly start bending my wrist
getting the position just right

and maybe
just maybe

i've remembered how to hold the sun