Lee Maracle, poems (2)

My Box of Letters

I was only six when they forced me to take
the box of beastly letters.

We were not friends from the start
We resented each other.

They tripped over each other in crazy
senseless and ridiculous patterns.

They jumped around me defiantly
Higgledy-piggledy and round.

They got me in trouble, these mischievous
little rascals.

They hated me. They said it was because
I didn't understand them.

I jumped inside the box, grabbed them
and wrestled them down.

This didn't work, they fought hard.
There were 26 of them, and I was only one.

(1991 afterthought on finding this, my first poem saved by my mother)

With diligence and persistence
I befriended them

I cajoled them, persuaded them for years
to make them behave.


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