Rose Light.
Rose Light
And in a rosy red room a promise was made not to turn off the light But the little boy was still afraid Offered on a golden spoon Coated with sugar Colored by sprinkles The lies had become ritual So he knew with cold certainty That as soon as the vacuum of sleep had him The lights would go out In a blink Only morning would save him The pillow under his head Suffocatingly soft The mattress with a spring That made him want to roll about until dawn The covers thick and warm The air always a touch too humid A thin film of sweat would cover his body Within his green silk pajamas Staring at the ceiling Red as the walls Was a symbol of the torture in eternal afterlife The sameness of his life at home Curled him into a ball of tension And they knew when he couldn’t sleep Some kind of sensor for his breathing The lights would flip off when he hit REM If he didn’t by midnight The next morning The mother would have comment ready And that evening there would be a pill with dinner The pressure of her keyed voice Unlocks pain in the middle of his head Which he feels couldn’t be let out Even with a knife in each ear Now he lays waiting For something in his imagination To save him from the next night’s sedation Some kind of dream to take him And leave his body to the ravages of darkness In the dark he imagines things come out to touch him Little fingers and toes climbing through the covers of his bed Following the scent of his sweat Like some kind of blood sucking insect He is still learning He doesn’t understand learn-ed things The science of bugs is as much a mystery as the workings of the mother’s mind His heart is beating faster And the room seems a tad hotter His skin is wet and itchy And he has to go pee But doesn’t want to get up Because though he can’t sleep The long day and previous nights Have drained him of energy Like something from an undead story He sits up He goes to his door Opens and steps into the dark hallway Imagined things slip away Staying just within the dark Pushed back by the rose nightlight of his room He opens his door a little wider And the rosy realm meets The soft blue sphere Of the bathroom’s nightlight Which if he hops to Means he can avoid completely Any chance of being touched by lurking inky fingers White socks squeaking the old wooden floor He sprints and leaps Passing from red to blue The thrill of using his body in single physical action Relieves some repressed tension He sprays the toilet bowl And on the return trip yawns A casual hop takes him back to red And a shiver up his spine reminds him of unseen eyes Watching and waiting for the sleep to free his body for their feast Hungry little teeth Thin as needles and hollow like the straws of mosquitoes But not for blood He knows they want his sweat And to caress his bare flesh He wraps himself tight in his sheets and blanket So even the smallest of invaders would find it impossible to crawl through the cloth spiral to his salty skin But air and heat have allied against him Not enough of the former And too much of the later Finally pierce his dense fantasy And he has a fundamental shift in priorities Like the grand day when Santa was evicted A light of change blazes through his consciousness Something has come together inside him That faces the fear of the dark It is something like anger Something like sadness And also something close to what was Close to fear But also it is humor Somehow he has found a different kind of distance from himself Then the usual fantasy It is more of an objective state And it feels powerful He feels as though in it He can bare anything It is just a matter of keeping a good distance when needed He unrolls himself and goes to the wall Before him is the rose with its familiar hue That was carefully researched by the mother And matched to his age The little boy struggles to remember the previous one But other then a hazy memory of annoyance at the change there is nothing for him to grasp He wonders what the next one would have been like Thinking about it he is a little surprised that the rose has lasted so long Perhaps it was overdue for a charge Or simply This is supposed to be the last one He touches the warm plastic And wonders if he will be seen different in the morning Will the father finally notice him Will the big sister not call him a baby Will the mother still kiss him good night What will change On impulse Of a deep human and individual nature He yanks and enters darkness His heart is punching his chest as he finds his covers Sleep slaps him around And he fights back the constant waves Of little finger fantasies He thinks about what reason he will give tomorrow For why he pulled it out What had been so important to him What had been promised He imagines lying Saying something strong That he’s a big boy now He goes to sleep imagining what the family will think In the morning He is called down to breakfast as usual He rubs his eyes And the mother asks how he slept He answers with a shrug And she just nods The others come and go The school bus comes and takes him To his daytime prison And his amazing feeling of change, release and success for the night Seems so distant as to be another boy’s life In this one No one cares enough to ask or listen The mother’s indifference Is another layer of repressed tension Added to a life filled with corners That box the little boy is in His personality is at odds with what is being done to the clay that is him molded There is a growing concern in the reports sent to the parents Each one adding to a case for special treatment The little boy is a potential danger in the future It is decided that this must be addressed now Starting with special classes And a light daily prescription If he rejects the treatment Then permanent containment will be considered The father has no comment The mother sighs And the big sister laughs and calls him a psycho retard It is a nightmare But it is real And he feels the immediate need to be distant This new found talent is harshly tested But a deep fear drives him to succeed in the test of his degree of normalcy Even at his tender age he understands something very close to the touch of death Permanent containment is the end he is frantic to avoid He has only his sister’s fairly ignorant explanation of it But her relish in him being threatened by it is enough to verify its hellish factor for him Enough for him to ape the lies that have been fed to him for so long The politeness comes out of him Near enough in form To the empty calories he got them from That he passes And in a day that will seem the brightest for years to come The father winks at him And says he’ll do good in sales His sister’s fortune wanes And in an impure moment she does something That he won’t find the details about till after moving out of the family’s house She does something that marks her as bad And she is taken away It is a cold victory To a sibling war He never wanted In the dark he thinks about her And in the morning he knows he is no longer watched at night Because though he couldn’t find sleep till well after midnight There is no waiting comment And that evening, no pill with the dinner’s drink He feels like something is leaving him Leaking out of him Or perhaps being drawn out slowly By little fingers The thread of him Pulled out into the dark He imagines being the parent And having the child to take care of For him It is a depressing thought And so He goes to sleep Nak-ed