Tonight's Poet Corner: When I Was Too Young

When I Was Too Young
by Belinda Roddie

When I was too young to be thinking
about death, I'd go rolling down the hill
by my father's sweet cottage. He'd cook
up a stew that was easy on my belly, still
wracked with the nerves of the previous
day, from a schoolmaster's cane and a
classmate's derision. Ah, but she

was so pretty and batting her lashes,
and despite her sharp tongue, I felt like
sucking the venom from her mouth
with my lips. I'd kiss her to forget
about the end of the world, and I'd
roll down the hill with her taste
on my tongue. But no, I was left

with the welts from the rod, and so
I ingested the stew in just a few bites.
My father knew how I was tortured
in school, so he fed me dark chocolate
with almonds and sea salt. The flavor
that lingered wasn't what I expected,
and it didn't replace my strange youthful
urges. But I was young and naive, and I
thought about sunsets and moonsets and
fireflies and kisses on lips from

a classmate who didn't deserve my affection.
So the taste of the cacao would do just
for now, and I'd roll down the hill until
my back ached from the exertion, and I'd
roll down the hill until I forgot what time
it was, and I'd roll down the hill until
death became a permanent question.