Don’t Mess Up!
If I were a dinosaur
I would use my very
long neck to eat leaves
that wave like flags
above the canopy.
My mother never
thought a good cry
would do “one single
solitary iota” of good.
I saw my father cry
two or three times
over an extraordinary
older brother. Before my
own brothers arrived,
back when I had an
entire room to myself
each night, I’d go to
sleep watching all of
cartoon characters
that danced in a circle
just beneath the ceiling
of my bedroom, as if in
one joyful and buoyant
square. Around and
around they’d dance
until I grew drowsy
and then unaware
that I had slipped
into an animated,
overjoyed dream.
And thusly I would
dance the entire night,
until the ancient
inhabitants at odds
If I were a dinosaur
I would use my very
long neck to eat leaves
that wave like flags
above the canopy.
My mother never
thought a good cry
would do “one single
solitary iota” of good.
I saw my father cry
two or three times
over an extraordinary
older brother. Before my
own brothers arrived,
back when I had an
entire room to myself
each night, I’d go to
sleep watching all of
cartoon characters
that danced in a circle
just beneath the ceiling
of my bedroom, as if in
one joyful and buoyant
square. Around and
around they’d dance
until I grew drowsy
and then unaware
that I had slipped
into an animated,
overjoyed dream.
And thusly I would
dance the entire night,
until the ancient
inhabitants at odds
with my delightful
dream would poke
their wise and wrinkled
heads into my room
and sing (in such a
jubilant harmony)
“Wake up, dear one,
it’s time to begin the
day,” their heads were
swaying back and forth
as their song would con
tinue, “wake up, dear
one, it’s time to reach
for the sun, until the
stars come out again
to do their dance.” I
was awake, by then,
of course, and before
I had opened my eyes,
they were gone. All of
the animated characters
had frozen in each of
their respective stances
just below my ceiling.
And slowly, I would
rise from my bed,
prepare for the day
ahead, and leave my
room and our home
and roam the hills
and valleys scrounging
for the most delectable
leaves, the ones that
flew like flags just
beneath the canopy.
I am still young, I
tell myself, as I rip
and tear at the del
icious leaves. I still
grow. And soon it
won’t be leaves for
breakfast, lunch
and dinner. Soon,
“Rise up, dear one,
you’re tall enough
to grab the moon.
Rise up, dear one,
here comes a low-
hanging star. Reach
and reach until you
cannot stretch
their wise and wrinkled
heads into my room
and sing (in such a
jubilant harmony)
“Wake up, dear one,
it’s time to begin the
day,” their heads were
swaying back and forth
as their song would con
tinue, “wake up, dear
one, it’s time to reach
for the sun, until the
stars come out again
to do their dance.” I
was awake, by then,
of course, and before
I had opened my eyes,
they were gone. All of
the animated characters
had frozen in each of
their respective stances
just below my ceiling.
And slowly, I would
rise from my bed,
prepare for the day
ahead, and leave my
room and our home
and roam the hills
and valleys scrounging
for the most delectable
leaves, the ones that
flew like flags just
beneath the canopy.
I am still young, I
tell myself, as I rip
and tear at the del
icious leaves. I still
grow. And soon it
won’t be leaves for
breakfast, lunch
and dinner. Soon,
“Rise up, dear one,
you’re tall enough
to grab the moon.
Rise up, dear one,
here comes a low-
hanging star. Reach
and reach until you
cannot stretch
another inch.
That star is
yours.” But
when will
it be mine?
I almost
ask as if
there were
someone here
to answer. And
will I then
ably join
my dancing
square of
colorful
friends who
live and
breath but
only at night
and just beneath
my bedroom ceiling?
