Posture, Eye Contact

Remember me?  I was the one who
walked with a stoop despite
my mother’s urgings to straighten up.

I could not please her for
the scar on my face from birth
became what all the children saw,

and in their unscarred faces I saw
the looks that made me look away,
look down.  Original sin a stitch

in timelessness.  Soon my shoulders
followed my eyes, and I walked
home from the bus stop after school

watching my feet on the pebbled
asphalt, the wind back then as now,
stirring the leaves above.

I missed nothing, for I would see
their beautiful withering once
they fell to earth.  Remember me?

You never saw my real face.  I never
met your eyes, for in them sparked
great doubt, which now at last

I lift my eyes to know.

A. E. Stringer

If you have any comments on this poem, A. E. Stringer would be pleased to hear from you.