Green-Hands, Holding the Sun

All I can remember is that time in Wal-Mart when your older sister came to me and asked: “Is it true that Payton went to the looney bin?” I wonder where she heard that lie and how many more were threaded among Honesdale locals, weaved into their perceptions of my family-- their shoulders betrayed them when they turned away as if we were the diseased ones rotting inside-out--maybe we were, in a way--but at least swallowing all this salt healed our wounds faster than your actions would fade from memory. I punched you the day I found out even as you scoffed, laughed, you hadn’t ever taken me seriously. At 17, I had learned not many people would--but my revenge came after I moved three hours south, when your father died of cancer, your best friend crashed your mother’s car, your sister fled all the way to England to escape the mistakes eating at her shadow, and I got out of our hellish town. You became rooted among manure, pot- holes too deep to outgrow--I’m sure you’re choking on worms by now. And when I finally reach the lofty sky, I’ll hold the sun between green hands. I’ll hide its light and warmth from you.

Request permission to use this poem

Written by

For You?