Winter 2011 • Vol. XXXIII No. 1 Poetry |

The Child

The child will forgive, will reach out, and wait for the next blow to fall; short of becoming a murderer, what else is he supposed to do— move out and get his own place? It's not such an awful idea, it's hard not to picture him: eight, walking home from school, his own apartment darkly waiting; no fear, screaming, sudden assault. He already knows how to cook a can of Campbell's soup; knows what time to go to bed. He knows no one is there to help him in whichever house he lays his head.

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The child will forgive, will reach out, and wait for the next blow to fall; short of becoming a murderer, what else is he supposed to do— move out and […]

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