Posture, Eye Contact
Remember me? I was the one who
walked with a stoop despite
my mother’s urgings to straighten up.
I could not please her for
the scar on my face from birth
became what all the children saw,
and in their unscarred faces I saw
the looks that made me look away,
look down. Original sin a stitch
in timelessness. Soon my shoulders
followed my eyes, and I walked
home from the bus stop after school
watching my feet on the pebbled
asphalt, the wind back then as now,
stirring the leaves above.
I missed nothing, for I would see
their beautiful withering once
they fell to earth. Remember me?
You never saw my real face. I never
met your eyes, for in them sparked
great doubt, which now at last
I lift my eyes to know.
A. E. Stringer
If you have any comments on this poem, A. E. Stringer would be pleased to hear from you.