PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The sound of a skateboard on sidewalk is the sound of my childhood.

The rough scratchings pull on my heart like rope…

I feel like I could go to the window and see myself flying by,

A fast and willing bird.

A young, dirty tomboy, scars on her skinny legs.

She will grow to be an ungraceful goddess,

That happy time between knowing who you are and not.

And then, she will find that boy.

And then, she will lose it all.

But the bruised tomboy knows nothing of the ways in which she will fall.

Not off of her skateboard, her old, beaten skateboard, rickety with rusted wheels,

Chipping paint, and peeling grip tape.

No.

The real instrument of danger is held in her heart, hiding.

The spare hope she holds of riding forever.

No.

You may not ride that skateboard into the sunset,

You may not feel the wind in your dirty hair,

You may not wear oversized tennis shoes,

You may not let the sidewalk tell you where to go.

No.

Step off, tomboy, grow tall, grow boobs, grow proud of

Your almond eyes and long legs.

The skateboard shoved to the back of the garage, out comes

Cars and curlers and smooth sandals with silver buttons.

There are different sounds now.

I rush to the window and see her.

I drive at midday and watch as she exit’s the elementary,

Baggy pants, headphones.

The sound of skateboard on pavement pulls on my heart like rope.

I want to walk up to her and say, “stay”,

For you are held so dearly in my heart, and I love you.

But I give no warning, my concern is misled.

She will see that her journey on her board is short.

She will have it stolen from her in the canyon as I once did.