Little Matt Poem by Christos R. Tsiailis

I wish I could tell you, Matt,
I wish it wasn’t so hard.
But I just force you to stay in your room.
And I cry out loud, to my surprise, that it is not yet time
for dinner.

Little bro is winding in and curling around the bed sheets
And then he gets his toy train and smashes it in half
-knowing he can fix it back again-
But I do not know how to fix my wound dad gave me,
that morning, at breakfast, between cereals and juice.
God, how my stomach hurt.

So instead I just ask you if you are listening to me
And I cry out frustrated, to your confusion,
as if it hadn’t been enough already
for you – a young child - to stay alone
until I call you,
cause mum hasn’t started making dinner yet.

Little bro is on the floor with hands in his rabbit sleepers and feet in his dog sleepers
playing
pretending he is father to his innocent furry herd.

I’ve always felt that the most intriguing sound for a girl
Is the key on the door at 7: 00 o’clock.
My happy voice saying “Dad’s home, mum, wake up, let’s make dinner! ”
But tonight, this third night.
It is not dad putting the key on the door,
It’s not the thin pointer and the short thumb
dancing around the pocket-warmed bronze.
It’s mum coming from her new work.
I can’t call dad to make dinner with me, someone else is cooking it for him.
How wrong was I, to have been feeling that dad is forever.

Why me and not Matt, mum ok, but why not him?
So I call you to stay in your room,
To my grief, I don’t think you should be coming down
tonight either.

Just as I was pushing odds,
all the time I had left behind to fit a key through a tiny hole
what I was afraid and hoping all along, just happened.
The phone rang.
My heart barked like a cocker spaniel,
and I almost cracked my head on the phone.
“Dad, is it you, dad? ”
But it was uncle John
“No, we haven’t heard from him yet”
What I was hoping might never happen.

Matt heard the ringing. I know he did.

I hear him call out in pain his worst distress,
that three days I had him locked up in there,
yet it had been the very least that happened
to our family,
oh, how hungry he must be by now,
but for him it’s best like this.

I am on the phone and I am making my hair.
I am pulling hairs and I know they will never grow again.
I am not helping mum for dinner anymore.
Door is ajar,
little Matt on top of his library, chewing up on a super-hero comic.
Oh, how I wish I were a hero in there right now.