After the drill of ducking under our desks
and hiding under newspaper, I went outside
and sprawled on the coarse sod
at the edge of the schoolyard,
searching the cobalt blue sky,
waiting for the world to end.
I folded my hands.
Two puffy white clouds formed and drifted away.
A sparrow came and sat on the chain-link swing.
The shadow of a maple grew long and covered me.
And Kennedy hung up the phone;
and Khrushchev threw his shoe;
and I walked home — the long way —
past the cenotaph, past Matkowskie’s Cafe, with the wondrous
pinball machine, past Gus in his grader, grading Centre Street,
who grinned and waved; past the alley by Jane and Barbie’s house,
to Railroad Avenue and the grain elevators, looming like guardians,
past the barber shop and pool hall with its clacking mysteries, then,
turning at the clipped caraganas and Mrs. Swain’s bright begonias,
through the green door at the back of our store,
the Arborite table in the cramped kitchen, already set,
and mom, looking up, a strand of hair falling across her creased
forehead, and dad — folding yesterday’s Yorkton Enterprise,
headline: Deifenbaker Daunted —
looked at me, and demanded, “Where have you been?”
And I said, with unreasoned assurance and composure,
“Making sure there’d be school tomorrow.”
Wonderful! Thank you for the walk <3
Thanks, Tamara!
Haha, what a lovely walk through a day of your past and what a clever response to your father’s question. You must have been a thoughtful child. I wonder what your father replied with?
Thanks Kirk. I certainly remember the day, but don’t really recall the conversation, a bit of poetic licence…
I too remember a day very similar. I remember wondering if the teachers really thought hiding under our desks would protect us. Then, when I was about to graduate, my high school showed the film, End Game – showed us what it would look like after WW3. I went home that day and told my mother I would never have children. I kept that promise until, thank God, He intervened, opened my eyes to His love and gave me not just one, but three beautiful daughters who are the joy of our lives. And now two brilliant grandkids!
There will always be something to fear but He is always with us, enabling us to stand against it.
Thank you for sharing that, Marcia.
The gall … I would never have gotten away with an answer like that!
Enjoyed the walk though.
Ha! Thanks Sam.