So they told me, trying to be kind,
that my mother, who I’d just seen die,
was in a better place now,
not seeing the pain of a youngster’s mind.
I use that memory to this day,
speaking to children, always with truth,
often while kneeling, eye to eye,
knowing they’ll grasp what I have to say.
So when a neighbor’s kiddo, smart and tough,
asked me around the pool about my scars,
where’d I get them, did they hurt,
I thought the truth would be enough.
Mom was embarrassed, let it show,
but I waved her off, kept explaining,
until the kiddo saw my memories flowing,
said thanks, that’s more than I need to know.
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