NOTE: When I began this poem, I had the visual image printed on a piece of paper on my desk. The
poem started as scraps that were written on shreds of paper. Then I moved the image and typed the
language on a computer. I often bold parts to remove them or keep them. Sometimes I italicize parts
to remove or keep them in order to separate language from the other parts of the text. When I write, I
do not worry about grammar, spelling, or order. I let the words come and go where they wish even if
the words come out as fragmented ideas.
DRAFT ONE
Instead
I’m certain his father would have carried his limp, naked nine-year old body into the back yard, shoveled
cool red clay dirt over his limbs under the settled moonlight; then buried him where yellow squash
grows. and is later pulled from life and brought into the kitchen. The wooden handle on the shovel
would be cleaned off with a water hose as weeds and dirt from the mouth made a seam down the
concrete sidewalk and into the paved street. Then, casually, the instrument would be put back in the
truck to avoid sight, suspicion. The washer dryer would clean all clay mud from the white T-shirt and
blue jeans. Even brown boots could be washed off in the kitchen sink as the mother and younger
brother faked sleep in the rooms upstairs. If this act had occurred, his small white face and blue eyes
that said, “I know a lot, but I’m not supposed to tell you, ” would have been on yellow milk cartons all
across the South. No one would know a thing, of course. His mother would sit in broken quiet
swallowing air of fear for her own life and her other son: Which one of them would most certainly be
next? The next day when Leonard didn’t come down for breakfast, relatives and neighbors would be
questioned and some even accused of harboring, selling, or harming the small child some people
assumed took a night trail into the woods and got lost. The gossiping old woman down the hill would tell
the police about conversations she had overheard where that man had mentioned how tight a little
boy’s ass was compared to an adult vagina and how other neighbors were also busy almost killing their
own children. Next door neighbors might even notice the strange hump the back yard made in the
middle of the garden but would stay silent and ensure the safety of their children as police and
volunteers search the wooded areas near the boy’s home. That story never happened because after he
heard the door shut after he heard his father’s footsteps march toward an adjacent room, after
Leonard’s soul reentered his small frame after he knew the footsteps were far enough away, he entered
his body again and fell into a deep, tortured sleep.
DRAFT TWO
Instead
I’m certain his father would have carried his limp, naked nine-year old body into the back yard, shoveled
cool red clay dirt over his limbs under the settled moonlight; then buried him where yellow squash
grows. and is later pulled from life and brought into the kitchen. The wooden handle on the shovel
would have been cleaned off with a water hose as weeds and dirt from the mouth made a seam down
the concrete walk, into the paved street. Then, casually, the instrument would be put back in the green
truck to avoid sight, suspicion. The washer dryer would clean all clay mud from the white T-shirt and
blue jeans. Even brown boots could be washed off in the kitchen sink as the mother and younger
brother faked sleep in the rooms upstairs. If this act had occurred, his small white face and blue eyes
that said, “I know a lot, but I’m not supposed to tell you, ” would have been on yellow milk cartons all
across the South. No one would know a thing, of course. His mother would have sat in broken quiet
swallowing air for fear that she or the youngest son would be next. The next day when Leonard
wouldn’t have come down for breakfast, relatives and neighbors would be questioned and some even
accused of harboring, selling, or harming the small child some people assumed took a night trail into the
woods and got lost. The gossiping old woman down the hill would tell the police about conversations
she had overheard where that man had mentioned how tight a little boy’s ass was compared to an adult
vagina and how other neighbors were also busy almost killing their own children. Next door neighbors
might even notice the strange hump the back yard made in the middle of the garden but would stay
silent and ensure the safety of their children as police and volunteers search the wooded areas near the
boy’s home. Instead…after he heard the door shut/after he heard his father’s footsteps march toward
an adjacent room/ after he knew the footsteps were far enough away, Leonard entered his body again
and fell into a deep, tortured sleep.
after sitting on the roof watching clouds move gray into being haze, Leonard’s soul reentered his small
frame but only after he heard the door shut and his father’s footsteps ease farther from his room.
cross the hallway back toward his mother.
perhaps the little boy took a trail and got lost, we don’t have mountain lions in these parts. He was so
pretty, what if someone—shhh! Don’t say that.
instead he came back—his soul came back into the shell he had finished with—after sitting on the roof
for some time and watching clouds change from gray to blue to black to gray. When morning came , he
made his foot flopped way down the green stairs toward the oak kitchen table where his red-headed
mother and troubled older brother waited after similar experiences the night before.
The feeling of being alive in the body is amazing. Dying, you leave like a star. If you don’t go all the way
up, you wait. After you wait, you go back into the body and breathe another’s air until you realize
you’re alive, and it’s your own. Sometimes he would hit his arms and legs against furniture just to make
sure they were actually his—like a game where you lose either way, but somehow he felt better.
DRAFT THREE
Instead
I’m certain his father would have carried his limp, naked nine-year old body into the back yard, shoveled
cool red clay dirt over his limbs under the settled moonlight; then buried him where yellow squash
grows. and is later pulled from life and brought into the kitchen. The wooden handle on the shovel
would have been cleaned off with a water hose as weeds and dirt from the mouth made a seam down
the concrete walk, into the paved street. Then, casually, slid into a spot in the bed of the green truck to
avoid suspicion. The washer dryer would clean all clay mud from the white T-shirt and blue jeans. Even
brown boots could be washed off in the kitchen sink as the mother and younger brother faked sleep in
the rooms upstairs. If this act had occurred, his small white face and blue eyes that said, “I know a lot,
but I’m not supposed to tell you, ” would have been on yellow milk cartons all across the South. No one
would know a thing, of course. His mother would have sat in broken quiet swallowing air for fear that
she or the youngest son would be next. The next day when Leonard wouldn’t have come down for
breakfast, relatives and neighbors would be questioned and some even accused of harboring, selling, or
harming the small child some people assumed took a night trail into the woods and got lost. The
gossiping old woman down the hill would tell the police about conversations she had overheard where
that man had mentioned how tight a little boy’s ass was compared to an adult vagina and how other
neighbors were also busy almost killing their own children. Next door neighbors might even notice the
strange hump the back yard made in the middle of the garden but would stay silent and ensure the
safety of their children as police and volunteers search the wooded areas near the boy’s home.
Instead…after he heard the door shut/after he heard his father’s footsteps march toward an adjacent
room/ after he knew the footsteps were far enough away, Leonard entered his body again and fell into a
deep, tortured sleep.
DRAFT FOUR
Instead
I’m certain his father would have carried his limp, naked nine-year old body into the back yard, shoveled
cool red clay dirt over his limbs under the settled moonlight, and then buried him where yellow squash
grows. I’m certain the gossiping old woman down the hill would have told the police about
conversations she had overheard where that man had mentioned how tight a little boy’s ass was
compared to an adult vagina and how other neighbors were also busy almost killing their own children.
Instead Leonard heard the door shut. He heard his father’s footsteps march toward an adjacent room.
Once he knew the footsteps were far enough away, Leonard entered his body again and fell into a deep,
tortured sleep.
and is later pulled from life and brought into the kitchen. The wooden handle on the shovel would
have been cleaned off with a water hose as weeds and dirt from the mouth made a seam down the
concrete walk, into the paved street. Then, casually, slid into a spot in the bed of the green truck to
avoid sight, suspicion. The washer dryer would clean all clay mud from the white T-shirt and blue jeans.
Even brown boots could be washed off in the kitchen sink as the mother and younger brother faked
hard sleep in rooms upstairs. His small white face and blue eyes that said, “I know a lot, but I’m not
supposed to tell you, ” would have been on yellow milk cartons all across the South. No one would
know a thing, of course. His mother would have sat in broken quiet swallowing air for fear that she or
the youngest son would be next. The next day when Leonard wouldn’t have come down for breakfast,
relatives and neighbors would be questioned and some even accused of harboring, selling, or harming
the small child some people assumed took a night trail into the woods and got lost. The gossiping old
woman down the hill would tell the police about conversations she had overheard where that man had
mentioned how tight a little boy’s ass was compared to an adult vagina and how other neighbors were
also busy almost killing their own children. Next door neighbors might even notice the strange hump
the back yard made in the middle of the garden but would stay silent and ensure the safety of their
children as police and volunteers search the wooded areas near the boy’s home. Instead…after he
heard the door shut/after he heard his father’s footsteps march toward an adjacent room/ after he
knew the footsteps were far enough away, Leonard entered his body again and fell into a deep, tortured
sleep.
DRAFT FIVE
Instead
I’m certain his father would have carried his limp, naked nine-year old body into the back yard, shoveled
cool red clay dirt over his limbs under the settled moonlight, and then buried him where yellow squash
grows. I’m certain the gossiping old woman down the hill would have told the police about
conversations she had overheard where that man had mentioned how tight a little boy’s ass was
compared to an adult vagina. She would have added how other neighbors were also busy almost killing
their own children. Instead Leonard heard the door shut; he heard his father’s footsteps march toward
an adjacent room. The footsteps were far enough away; Leonard awoke in his body again and then fell
into a deep, tortured sleep.
and is later pulled from life and brought into the kitchen. The wooden handle on the shovel would
have been cleaned off with a water hose as weeds and dirt from the mouth made a seam down the
concrete walk, into the paved street. Then, casually, slid into a spot in the bed of the green truck to
avoid sight, suspicion. The washer dryer would clean all clay mud from the white T-shirt and blue jeans.
Even brown boots could be washed off in the kitchen sink as the mother and younger brother faked
hard sleep in rooms upstairs. His small white face and blue eyes that said, “I know a lot, but I’m not
supposed to tell you, ” would have been on yellow milk cartons all across the South. No one would
know a thing, of course. His mother would have sat in broken quiet swallowing air for fear that she or
the youngest son would be next. The next day when Leonard wouldn’t have come down for breakfast,
relatives and neighbors would be questioned and some even accused of harboring, selling, or harming
the small child some people assumed took a night trail into the woods and got lost. The gossiping old
woman down the hill would tell the police about conversations she had overheard where that man had
mentioned how tight a little boy’s ass was compared to an adult vagina and how other neighbors were
also busy almost killing their own children. Next door neighbors might even notice the strange hump
the back yard made in the middle of the garden but would stay silent and ensure the safety of their
children as police and volunteers search the wooded areas near the boy’s home. Instead…after he
heard the door shut/after he heard his father’s footsteps march toward an adjacent room/
DRAFT SIX
Instead
I’m certain his father would have carried his limp, naked nine-year old body into the back yard, shoveled
cool red clay dirt over his limbs under settled moonlight, then buried him where yellow squash grows.
I’m certain the gossiping old woman down the hill would have told the police about conversations she
overheard where that man had mentioned how tight a little boy’s ass was compared to an adult vagina.
She would have added how other neighbors were also busy almost killing their own children as she
pointed to houses: there, there, and that pink one there. Instead Leonard heard his bedroom door shut;
his father’s footsteps marched toward an adjacent room as he awoke alive in his body, then fell into a
deep,
tortured
sleep.