Goodbye Tony
(I was rifling through old folders today when I came across this poem, written in 1997. I never did get it to where I thought it really worked on paper, but I always had fun reading it. "Tony" was Tony Heilman, my best friend and sweetheart from kindergarten. He moved away that summer to Minneapolis, and I never heard from him again. I wish I had a picture of him. This one is me with my boyfriend the summer before kindergarten. His name was Christopher. He was nice too.)
I like you Tony. I really like you—really much— and some days, I like you too much. I might marry you when I grow up. Goodbye, Tony.
Tony, you had already moved away
when I gave my five-year-old heart's testimony
to the microphone of my parents' Sony recorder
but you knew I'd stand by you always,
right from the day I walked over
to where you stood crying,
alone among strangers, your mother's back
fading to a speck in the distance.
I took your hand and told you
all we had now
was each other.
We made a life for ourselves then,
in the little cardboard house.
You went out to fight fires
and came home each day to me,
aproned and wifely. I remember
you were gentle with the babies
and could refuse me nothing.
I made you sleep naked with me,
your damp curls pressed to my cheek
and got you in trouble with your family.
I haven't learned much better since
but I feel if anyone could love me for who I am,
Tony, it would be you.
You would know that there had to be others
after you. That I could never let any lost boy
be alone among strangers, and you wouldn't
blame them either for the things I put them up to.
You would even understand how I could state
my best intentions in the same breath as goodbye.
Tony, I love too much.
I hope to find you someday
when I grow up.
© Kyran Pittman, all rights reserved
I like you Tony. I really like you—really much— and some days, I like you too much. I might marry you when I grow up. Goodbye, Tony.
—transcript of a voice recording of me, age five.
Tony, you had already moved away
when I gave my five-year-old heart's testimony
to the microphone of my parents' Sony recorder
but you knew I'd stand by you always,
right from the day I walked over
to where you stood crying,
alone among strangers, your mother's back
fading to a speck in the distance.
I took your hand and told you
all we had now
was each other.
We made a life for ourselves then,
in the little cardboard house.
You went out to fight fires
and came home each day to me,
aproned and wifely. I remember
you were gentle with the babies
and could refuse me nothing.
I made you sleep naked with me,
your damp curls pressed to my cheek
and got you in trouble with your family.
I haven't learned much better since
but I feel if anyone could love me for who I am,
Tony, it would be you.
You would know that there had to be others
after you. That I could never let any lost boy
be alone among strangers, and you wouldn't
blame them either for the things I put them up to.
You would even understand how I could state
my best intentions in the same breath as goodbye.
Tony, I love too much.
I hope to find you someday
when I grow up.
© Kyran Pittman, all rights reserved
Labels: the way we were
—Kyran, 1:42 PM
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6 Comments:
Wow!! The ways we have loved...Beautiful.
Tony! Wow I hadn't thought of him in years. Remember his sister "snort" ? What a neat family. I used to have a ruby heart pendant he gave you , I wonder where that is.....
I stopped reading your blog almost a year ago, right around when I first got pregnant. It wasn't intentional, I just ran out of awake time, and stopped reading a lot of my blogs.
You stayed on my blogroll, however, but were the victim of far too many clicks of the "I give up" button ("mark all read").
The other night, when I was awake at some ridiculous hour with an infant at my breast, I clicked on a new post that had showed up from your blog. And I remembered why I used to read your blog. Honestly, this blog is the best written blog on my blogroll. And I think, ultimately, that is why I stopped reading it. I would see new posts from you, but feel like I didn't have the energy to properly read a properly written post. That was my loss.
But this week, I have learned how to scroll (and even type!) one-handed as the babe nurses. And I have spent many a midnight hour catching up on almost a year of missed posts. I've eaten it up, and was somewhat sad when I reached the point in the archives where I had already read the posts.
All that, I guess, to say: well done, and thank you for still being here.
Your use of language is simply beautiful. I'm envious.
My childhood love...is named Cupcake...
Jule Ann!
I remember you. Congratulations. :-)
and it's always "drop by when you can, drop out when you need to", around here.
Just think: He could be googling himself right now, and come across this post! Oooohhh!!!!
You made him sleep naked beside you?!? :)
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