As a child
My parents hung up
My proudest works
On the fridge
No matter if it was
A sketch I absentmindedly drew
Or an A plus on my homework
Or even something from art class that never got graded
Perhaps one day
I'll hang my child's artwork and accomplishments on the fridge
Until they give me something new to hang
I fear being handed something
By someone I love
And not understand a thing about it
Having to plaster on a fake smile
And tell them I love it
When in reality I think it's ugly
Did my parents ever think that?
Did they ever throw away those drawings, when I wasn't paying attention?
Or did they save each and every one?
Because no matter what they thought of it
They loved me
And knew I spent so much work on it
And that's why they hung it on the fridge
The place of highest honor
In a house with kids
YOU ARE READING
Leaving Behind the Endless Fields of Corn and Soybeans
PoetryEveryone has that one place in their heart. The two will always be connected, whether they love that place, or hate that place. My place? My town? I love it, I hate it. I've left it behind. This collection of poetry is about the place, the town, tha...
