Safety in Unwanted Things
I.
Standing behind the bigger boy, even
His shadow is second-hand:
A flat, grey ghost under a
Tantrum thundercloud.
The folds in his overlarge clothes make him look
Like he is shrinking.
He watches presents emerge from bright paper
And anticipates the day they are broken or forgotten;
There is safety in unwanted things.
II.
Tears are more over than they've ever been;
The war had dissolved into a slumped sigh,
Mumbling a prayer of thanks to him
(With few words for the dead or ruined).
And now the world is arranged on his table
In bright paper, waiting for his hands,
And he takes what he never could.
He takes and takes
Of food, and things, and sights,
And company, especially
But he can't stand their faces
Admiring his triumph in false faith
That he can never be broken.
Just shake me, he thinks.
My skin is bright paper
But inside, I'm pieces.
III.
He finds the man in a pile of dust-colored shadows
Drinking fiercely, scolding himself to the silence.
He can't explain his presence, or his purpose
Other than to say I've found you,
But somehow, that's enough.
He doesn't have to mention how the world
Knows only who they aren't.
He takes the man, and his books,
And tucks them gently
In the safest shelf of his life.
He sees the man's valor;
The man has trust in his frailty
And their broken edges fit.
There is safety in unwanted things.