Timothy
By
Marianne Lyon
Timothy
jarringly eccentric
thatches and sprigs of black hair
wave in random directions
a wildness in his eyes, fidgety-
a squirrel loose in a tree
stores his backpack far from others kids
always wants to be first , when request is denied
Timothy bends over like a stick splintering in his chest
"No, I want to be first!"
the other students used to his sudden outbursts
just stare, aren't curious anymore
They tumble into my music room
I teach singing to all students in the school
Timothy-trails the others
tries to find a place on the carpet
groans, "No" when someone takes a spot he wants
I settle him near me; start with a song the kids love-
"Children of the Word", we chant and sign the refrain
over and over: "We are all one people, a world family".
It begins like a butterfly
lights on a blooming bush
then drifts around the room
he exhales a harmony so pure
my wide eyes follow my ears to
his closed eyes, a grinning angel
a wash of happiness flows over him
the other students look back and forth
like a swinging gate-from Timothy to me
then a silence sits on us like a stone we can't lift
"That was beautiful, Timothy," I whisper
We end in a circle, Timothy hesitates
"No, I don't want to hold hands!"
two students part the circle, smile him in
he traipses toward the ring as if emerging from a dream
in the circle today, everyone is of equal worth
More stories through poetry by Marianne Lyon will be featured
in the June 2015 issue of TWJ Magazine.
