This kid I knew
sits up at night
legs dangling from the edge of the bed
toes wrapped around the cold metal bedframe.
The bathroom light is on
and the light over the kitchen sink,
but the room, the memory, is dark.

This kid I knew
spends time alone in the woods
walking between tall skinny trees
looking at the ground for hidden treasure.
The air could be hot, cold,
and somewhere in between
till day turns to dusk.

This kid I knew
kicks rocks around the playground,
chases white butterflies,
falls into the mud chasing girls,
and always finds some place
to sit, stand, be
alone. 

This kid I knew
thinks too much
and questions very little,
understands being misunderstood
quits communicating
and starts internalizing.
This kid I knew is me. 

This kid I knew
I meet as an adult
in the overlap of truth and fiction,
memory and reality.
This kid is outside my body
but inside my mind.
This kid I knew is me.

September 12, 2005