Seed of Doubt - Poetry Jam

Seed of Doubt

I held that hand you offered

Warm and strong it was

I looked at dirty knuckles

Fresh from our garden chores

The sun was strong

Sweat beads on your wrist

Misted wiry hairs 

A glass of lemonade? Yes!

One hand brushed damp bangs

Up and away from my eyes

The other dropped my hand

Urging me toward the kitchen

I sat at the table

Legs sticking to the chair vinyl

A cold glass rested before me

A cold hand dropped to rest

Draped between my knees

I freeze

Wait! Cookies!

Your back was turned

I dashed

The screen door clattered

The sun was blinding

My sneakers slapped the sidewalk

The postman cursed my rushing by

I didn't care

My mother called and I ran

Writer's Note:

Often when we are in danger or feel threatened, the experience is remembered in an almost photographic manner. Images and sensations are stilted and bounce back willy-nilly to create the incident. They bounce back square before your eyes or at the center of your forehead, as you close eyes to bring things back. Thus is the incident of my childhood ... was his touch innocent and gentle or was it dangerous? I will never know for sure. I reacted from a gut reaction, having been drilled by parents and teachers early on to flee danger at the first inkling.

Later, I questioned myself. I never, though, allowed myself to be alone in Neighbor John's presence again. He touched my shoulder or guided me through activities in his yard (right across from our yard), but always when Mother was hanging laundry or brothers were playing whiffle ball or friends were jumping rope on the sidewalk nearby. I learned to be cautious, but I always wondered if I really needed to be. It makes me sad to think that I had to be that way with him, but I did.

This poem is part of Poetry Jam's weekly writing exercise ... this week the theme is 'danger' in any of its manifestations. Link to see what others have shared.