A 12 year old boy
With crooked glasses,
And clothes pulling taught
Across his newly lanky legs,
Stands alone in the heart of the desert.
He stays still and watches the sun set
Over the distant highway warped with heat.
The boy lays down in the glowing dust,
folds his hands across his chest,
And tries to forget the sound
Of his mother pulling tape across
Brown boxes filled with old toys.
He forgets the whispers in the school hallway,
And the flickering light of his closet,
And the desperate barking of the neighbor's dogs.
He relieves himself of the hundreds of moments
that he has recreated in his head
And tried, for months, to fix.
For the first time, he clears his head
To make room for what is to come.