A piercing cry erupted during my daily walk
It shattered my ears and struck my heart
In between the cars over there, was a kid
Orange, straight head of hair, a red head
So thick and authentic
I thought he should be called Orange head
He must have been 3 or so
Dirty shirt, with horizontal brown hued, pin-striped 70s style
His belly sticking out some
The chubby little guy was alone
I looked around - to the left and saw palm trees swaying
To the right, palm trees swaying
With blotchy white clouds floating on an ocean blue tapestry
Sun rays burning down on a hot California day
I saw no other humans, anywhere
Just a kid crying there
So I walked in front of him
He squinted as he canted his head up to me
Even through the slit for eyes, there was a sparkle there
Innocence and fear poured a foundation that still persists 5o something years later
Salty water streamed down his face an speckled his shirt and ground
Snot bubbled from his nose
One bubble popped
I sat criss cross apple sauce
Right in front of him
In between the cars and I cooed
It’s ok little guy, I got you
He muscled the strength to get up
Walked to me, a stranger with love in his heart
And hugged me fiercely
And authentically
And I hugged him back just the same
His body convulsed with left over crying spasms
The real ones, you know them, you’ve cried like that
I wrapped him in a blanket of white, invisible light
Frequency if you will
And my souls held on to him
Though he couldn’t see it, he felt it
The spasms stopped and I felt him relax
I stood up, with this baby boy still in my arms
And I will hold on to him forever
-
Author:
AmIAPoet-QuestionMark (
Offline) - Published: October 26th, 2026 11:45
- Comment from author about the poem: My therapist asked me to write about a conversation I’d have with my younger self. She’s been trying to get me to see that the scared little boy inside me has driving my actions my entire life. I wrote this poem in May this year. I don’t recall why or the context then…But it’s based on a real memory. The memory I had for years was more like a dream or thought that crossed sometimes when I was younger. It was of being lost, alone and very scared. After my parents both died - at some point, I got a hold of a photo album. In it was a picture of me, crying sitting on a curb. Clearly, I got lost. And clearly, my mom thought it was funny enough to take the time and find a camera (this would have been around 1973/4 when camera’s were bricks) and snap a pic of me. Clearly this left a lasting impression of me. This poem came out.
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