Memories of Childhood

By Robert T. Birkinshaw

He’s all dressed but his shoes.

He even pulled on his own socks.

It makes no difference

That they’re inside out

And that the heel of the sock

Is on the top of his foot

Because he did it all himself.

Patiently he sits,

Waiting for his mother to

Finish the dishes and tie his shoes.

Swinging his little legs back and forth

And trying to learn how to whistle

Help him pass the time.

But the sky is blue, and

There is a gentle breeze

Coming through the screen door

Which beckons him to come out to play.

“How long is a minute?” he asks.

His mother tells him to watch

The clock on the wall to see

The tiny second hand go in a circle.

He wanted to be sure to see, so

He climbed upon a chair and

Traced the movement with his finger.

Photo by John Luke