They grew up

 I guess in the passing of time it becomes easy

To collect things;

Things that mattered,

And things that don’t-or, didn’t, that is-

But now

Seem hard to give up

Like a coke bottle set in a window, randomly

And I don’t know why it looks like art

When it’s recycling I suppose

But my mind says, oh, it hurts nothing to sit there like a proud lady staring down the sun

And I also keep

A small broken toy car

Leftovers

From a child that is now 

A man

I’ve kept more than these

I’ve kept entire broken stories strewn about

Messed by the wind and mixed with potting soil 

I cough a little as I shovel the past into a plastic bag to tidy up the shed

It feels as though my soul is disarrayed here

And where did these children go? 

They became able

And willing

And they are not here tossing volleyballs on and off the sloped roof

They are not going to miss the molded softball mitt we didn’t keep very well 

They are

Protesting in the streets

And writing essays

And stretching their minds

So some other kid someplace might

Lose his toy car or his baseball or his childhood

And 

Grow up and survive 

And 

Learn and

Flourish

(Art credited to Beatrice Potter)