Author Information
What I Remember Instead
I was six beneath an open, sunny sky,
Sitting in a varnished wooden chair
With a small desk resting before me,
Surrounded by bigger faces and murmuring voices,
The rectangular stage looming solemnly before us.
It was a written English spelling quiz bee,
Nothing that should have frightened me.
But when they called the word out, my mind went still—
The sound reached me, but tension came rushing in.
I searched for letters that dissolved somewhere.
My little hands grew cold upon the desk,
My thoughts scattered somewhere I could not find.
The unfamiliar sound slowly faded into the air
While the patient paper waited before me,
Tears fell where letters should have been.
I do not remember that word anymore.
Perhaps it was difficult; perhaps I simply froze.
Maybe the years carried it quietly away,
Leaving only the outline of that unforgettable morning
And the bewildered little boy who could not spell it.
But I vividly remember my grandmother.
I will never forget that she was there when I cried,
When the contest was over and that stubborn word was gone.
And somehow, in the middle of my first great failure,
Her tender presence made the world feel gentle again.
