Childhood is long and narrow like
a corridor made of memories, dreams,
imagination\'s flimsy scaffolding built
on hopes that sometimes become
marble statues but often just stand,
clouds drifting through an endless sky
of recesses and scraped knees, stumbling,
fists clenched in pockets, trepidation
like lunchtime uneaten in a paper bag,
the playground with its wooden dragons
of cliques, the ladder impossible
to climb, as if it\'s a coffin you can’t
get out of on your own, no key
in your tiny hands, yet the sunlight
through the windows says, someday,
you will carve wings out of this wood,
one foot after the other, bruised but
steadfast, until you finally fly away.