"Lost Child"

 

Little boy with bright mischievous eyes
And no control over his actions
In kindergarten he remains friendless
No other child walks with him—arm flung around his shoulders—sharing secrets
In first grade he cannot read
His wildness presses against school’s restraints
As he fights conformity
No other child walks with him—arm flung around his shoulders—sharing secrets
Second grade demands attention
But numbers whirl by in him
Until he becomes senseless and numbed by Adderall
No other child walks with him—arm flung around his shoulders—sharing secrets
He slows down and gives up
Submitting to rules and regulations
Molding himself into submission
Still—
No other child walks with him—arm flung around his shoulders—sharing secrets

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Lost Child"

Little boy with bright mischievous eyes

And no control over his actions

In kindergarten he remains friendless

No other child walks with him—arm flung around his shoulders—sharing secrets

In first grade he cannot read

His wildness presses against school’s restraints

As he fights conformity

No other child walks with him—arm flung around his shoulders—sharing secrets

Second grade demands attention

But numbers whirl by in him

Until he becomes senseless and numbed by Adderall

No other child walks with him—arm flung around his shoulders—sharing secrets

He slows down and gives up

Submitting to rules and regulations

Molding himself into submission

Still—

No other child walks with him—arm flung around his shoulders—sharing secrets

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“The Waiting Game”

 

            Waiting.

            Waiting for a delivery takes a special kind of patience that I don’t have anymore. In the past, I would fill the hours by reading a book or watching something on television. Perhaps I’d do a few easily interrupted household chores to help pass the time.

  

          Today, I await our new Amana refrigerator. The Home Depot called last night and gave us a four hour window. I’ll receive a more specific time within an hour of delivery. At that point, I can shift all of the food into the sparkling clean and dutifully awaiting cooler.

            In the meantime, I linger around the house. I haven’t gone outside to water the gardens, as is my usual routine, in case I miss the phone call. I’ve tried playing Bejeweled Blitz and Zuma’s Revenge to keep me busy, but in the back of my mind, I listen for the truck’s sighing brakes.

            With my luck, the refrigerator will arrive late this afternoon, making me miss my workout at the gym and preventing me from picking up something to eat for lunch.

            With my luck, I’ll be the last delivery before the driver heads into his home base. That means an extra late start on chilling the new fridge and a delay in getting some groceries (which I haven’t bought for this week, of course).

            And so Impatience chats with me as I wait. Her ADHD keeps me on edge, though, and emphasizes that waiting just isn’t my game.

    

 

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Sitting-101”

            A normal person wouldn’t need lessons in relaxation. A normal person wouldn’t have to practice the art of sitting still. A normal person wouldn’t have to hear reminders from loved ones to “take it easy” or to “just sit and do nothing.”
            I am famous for my reputation of being unable to sit and do absolutely nothing. I’ll find a rerun on television, listen to music, or grab a book as I head to the couch. I’ll find myself itching to run a dust cloth over the furniture if the TV show doesn’t capture my attention enough. I may set down the book to get a drink in the kitchen and find myself wiping down the counters one-more-time. And music? Well, sometimes I just have to get up and dance!
            So this morning I practiced sitting still. Intentionally, I headed out back without pen and journal in hand. And although I have just finished reading one novel, but I didn’t snatch the next volume from my summer reading pile. I didn’t turn on the television for background, and I didn’t switch on the stereo.
            I sat outside in one of the lounge chairs and listened to the rise and fall of child voices coming over the back fence. Their high pitched squeals mixed with the coos of doves. The breeze felt cool and the morning sun gentle.
            I lasted about fifteen minutes.
            Then the dogs wanted outside, and my foot itched, and my neck needed popping.
            Needless to say, I will have to practice this new skill daily.   
 

Where I plan on conducting my morning "class" each day!

 

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman