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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431917" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Childhood Ideogram</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I lay my head sideways on the desk, <br>My fingers interlocked under my cheekbones, <br>My eyes closed. It was a three-room schoolhouse, <br>White, with a small bell tower, an oak tree. <br>From where I sat, on still days, I'd watch <br>The oak, the prisoner of that sky, or read <br>The desk carved with adults' names: Marietta <br>Martin, Truman Finnell, Marjorie Elm; <br>The wood hacked or lovingly hollowed, the flies <br>Settling on the obsolete & built-in inkwells. <br>I remember, tonight, only details, how <br>Mrs. Avery, now gone, was standing then <br>In her beige dress, its quiet, gazelle print <br>Still dark with lines of perspiration from <br>The day before; how Gracie Chin had just <br>Shown me how to draw, with chalk, a Chinese <br>Ideogram. Where did she go, white thigh <br>With one still freckle, lost in silk? <br>No one would say for sure, so that I'd know, <br>So that all shapes, for days after, seemed <br>Brushstrokes in Chinese: countries on maps <br>That shifted, changed colors, or disappeared: <br>Lithuania, Prussia, Bessarabia; <br>The numbers four & seven; the question mark. <br>That year, I ate almost nothing. <br>I thought my parents weren't my real parents, <br>I thought there'd been some terrible mistake. <br>At recess I would sit alone, seeing <br>In the print of each leaf shadow, an ideogram— <br>Still, indecipherable, beneath the green sound <br>The bell still made, even after it had faded, <br>When the dust-covered leaves of the oak tree <br>Quivered, slightly, if I looked up in time. <br>And my father, so distant in those days, <br>Where did he go, that autumn, when he chose <br>The chaste, faint ideogram of ash, & I had <br>To leave him there, white bones in a puzzle <br>By a plum tree, the sun rising over <br>The Sierras? It is not Chinese, but English— <br>When the past tense, when you first learn to use it <br>As a child, throws all the verbs in the language <br>Into the long, flat shade of houses you <br>Ride past, & into town. Your father's driving. <br>On winter evenings, the lights would come on earlier. <br>People would be shopping for Christmas. Each hand, <br>With the one whorl of its fingerprints, with twenty <br>Delicate bones inside it, reaching up <br>To touch some bolt of cloth, or choose a gift, <br>A little different from any other hand. <br>You know how the past tense turns a sentence dark, <br>But leaves names, lovers, places showing through: <br>Gracie Chin, my father, Lithuania; <br>A beige dress where dark gazelles hold still? <br>Outside, it's snowing, cold, & a New Year. <br>The trees & streets are turning white. <br>I always thought he would come back like this. <br>I always thought he wouldn't dare be seen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Larry+Levis">Larry Levis</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431917" data-title="Childhood Ideogram de Larry Levis" data-description="I lay my head sideways on the desk, 
My fingers interlocked under my cheekbones, 
My eyes closed. It was a three-room schoolhouse, 
White, with a small bell tower, an oak tree. 
From where I sat, on still days, I'd watch 
The oak, the prisoner of ..."></div>
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