Mama, a man told me he liked me
at the school park this morning
and when I asked him why,
he could not muster a proper reply,
so I walked away.

I asked him why the morning drowned
in the aroma of citrus; sun-rays playing
a game of charades
across classroom roofs. He said,
“Helena, I barely know this school
and only learned how its locks
fit its doors, but the morning
only vaguely smells of citrus to me, and more
of your wisdom distilled and your fragrance cold.”

I did not believe him because men are idiots
and most of them abuse a newfound silver tongue.
I left him, believing I had not such “wisdom,”
so he stood on the park alone, perhaps thinking
that to choose such phrases as “fragrance cold”
would not really impress a girl, all told.
Besides, I am but seven years old.

— A. P.


2 thoughts on “Helena

  1. This poem pulls in so much into its narrative. I can see complex relationships between men and women, the weariness of the seniority vs the childlike wonder of the kid. The plot twist further reinforces this at the end – ha! Really, really enjoyed this.

    Liked by 1 person

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