he believed he was a rabbit:

 

Sat in the middle of the playground
on haunches
his sandals full of marbles
lifted from games while thumbs and eyes
focused on the twirls of colour
in spherical glass stories

teachers told him
to stand as other children did
empty his pockets of food
he harboured – nibbled carrots
and celery reminded him of the dentures
singing in a watered glass
beside his grandfather’s bed.

He remembers the sound of the old man’s chest
an ocean that lifted and plunged
into words he barely understood
before it fell still, left behind a storm
that never broke and a smell
he was not able to wash away.

Sadness grew around him
in tufts of sweet grass ready for him to chew
while others played football or chasey
he hunched low, nibbled his bottom lip
with his two front teeth
rubbed imaginary twin ears
with hands clubbed
to resemble paws

waited
for his mother’s voice to call him
into boyhood again.

Every day at three thirty
he raced to her car
the sound of children’s voices filling him – tears
falling with an absence of sound
into the whirlpool of tomorrows.