The Young Ones Are Watching

by Amanda Jayne ©

Those throw away comments did not reach the trash.

Instead, the little ones caught them

and placed them neatly in the back of their minds.

They will read them later

and use them as ammunition,

firing round after round,

saving the biggest missiles to obliterate themselves

When you say one thing but do another

the young ones learn that your words mean nothing.

They slice themselves in two;

one slice scrambles to find safety in lacerated net

the other stacks bricks, a single tower of strength

so flawed,

one push will bring it crashing down

What you feel speaks louder than the white lies you utter.

Little hearts learn to hide their truth

inside a happy meal

to build walls around the castle

and call them sanctuary

become carpenters, fixing other’s houses

while cracks in their own roof crumble and weep

What you consume shapes worlds

Wide eyes graze, eager ears swallow whole,

full stomachs cram in one more bite

as voices stream in desperation to be heard;

soldiers, builders and carpenters all

Forming desolate inner landscapes, acid springs

the Danakil Depression would scorn

What if,

no matter the time

on our clocks,

we learned

to shed the shells

and pen our thoughts

anew?

To splice our nets

with natures silver threads,

smash down

our towers

and weave

the broken pieces

into a tapestry of love?

What if

we turned our tools

to carve windows into stone

and risked reaching out a hand?

Found the cracks

in our dwellings

and tenderly cared for them?

What if

we loved our young ones

enough

to search new landscapes

and walk among the flowers;

carved vessels from nature’s gifts

to ride the wild seas?

Then,

maybe,

the young ones inside us

will smile a knowing smile.

They’ve been watching

and waiting

a long time.