My Heart Is A Tape Recorder
Poem by Patsy Bryant
I visited with Michael,
if you could call it visiting...
A child hanging upside down,
his feet around a limb.
I had a talk with Brad
if you could call it talking...
Down on his stomach
creeping, crawling, stalking
A big ferocious Indian
only visible to him.
But conversations with Denise
my heart was tape recording.
Mumps and pups and kindergarten,
ships and cars and planes,
Trees to climb and kites to fly
for empty years I'm hoarding
The lovely sights and sounds of them
that will not come again.
I thank you, GOD, that when they shed
young years like outgrown toys,
To take their battle stations
in the brusque and adult world,
Our hearts can play back laughter
of beguiling little boys and girls
With shining hair, baby mouths
And long lashes curled.
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