#245 of 365 – “candy sticks”

“candy sticks”

 

she brought home candy sticks

that were magical, made in some

special room in the sky

 

and when you ate them

the secret laws of confusion

and fear simply didn’t apply

 

my mother’s arms were sometimes

just like that, disappearing

my hurt and dismay

 

and bringing mute, the little demons

that were pecking

my childhood away

 

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About Blackbird

Poet, sculptor, writer, spouse, parent, crazy person - not necessarily in that order.
This entry was posted in Childhood, Growing Up, Mother and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to #245 of 365 – “candy sticks”

  1. Starralee says:

    Wow, this is so strange how you tap into memories for me–before things got altogether strange and horrible, my mom taught school; and to ease the separation anxiety for my brother and I (we were about 5 and 3), she would give us each an “all day sucker”–some sort of dark caramel (maybe with chocolate, not sure) confection on a stick. I remember them as being huge–so that they must have lasted all or most of the day till she returned.

    And I love “pecking my childhood away”–wowza, and how each peck hurt! Now I look back and think they were more like shark bites….arrgghh.

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