"To Ren," Theo Segura
The weak, feeble light
shambled down from
the clear winter sky
to fall clumsily upon
the dirty surface
of your little blue coat
as we shuffled lazily on
down the narrow, snaking path
toward the slumbering park.
You had asked me
if I still remembered
how to get there
after having been
gone for so long,
and I couldn’t help
but let out a laugh
that echoed in
the liquid depths
of your innocent,
brown eyes,
and rang in the
sterile chill of the
afternoon. I miss
the small weight of
your hand in mine
as we traversed
the dull expanses
of suburbia, and
it is only now,
sitting alone on the
barren bed in the
heavy silence and thick
shadows that cling to the
empty walls of this
prison cell of a room,
suspended in the hazy past,
that I realize the lure of the
park wasn’t the real reason
you left your toys behind
in careless disarray
to venture out with me
into the clutches of
the bitter cold,
because if it was,
you wouldn’t have been
so ready to go home
as soon as I complained
that my hands had
begun to grow numb.