Ask not...
we were children
at the cusp of puberty
junior high school beginning
childhood tossed behind us
like castaway pigtails, worn
out sneakers, dolls and toys -
A new president held us entranced
when he spoke with long vowels
and wavy brown hair declaring
the things that we were already
taught at home.
He was clearly ours – we learned of Camelot
unsure whether he was creator or symbol
it mattered little – there was talk of moon
shots and stirrings of unity … and we were
twelve or thereabouts and not yet wearing
flowers in our hair but in our hearts – our
open hearts – so tender and open -so easily
pierced and bloodied that afternoon when
school announced early dismissal
of life that we realized was
but a dream that we dreamt.
You hit me right in the heart with these two versions of your poem, Pearl. What a moment, what a crushing moment that was. I was only in grade school. My mother and older brother came to pick me up, and my brother--who often told me tall tales to see if he could make me believe them--told me the President had been shot. I wouldn't believe him and finally asked our mother, our stoic, very conservative, emotionally unavailable mother--whether it was true and all she said was "yes" as if I'd asked if we were having casserole for dinner. Even at that young age, I understood that President Kennedy was special. I once went to see a woman who was supposed to be able to access a person's spirit guides. She had been highly recommended by a friend. She told me, "You were all right until you were eight. What happened when you were eight? It changed the whole trajectory of your life." (or words to that effect.) The only thing i could think of was this, the Kennedy assassination.
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