Patterns

Another poem to start your week

Photo by Omar Flores on Unsplash

As always, find more on my website, AdamLujan.com

At my age now: 38

I can look back and remember the times I 

Was forced to kneel, SITTING UP, BACK STRAIGHT, NO SLOUCHING

And stare at the living room wall.

I would make a game of it, creating stories within the patterns I would see on

The dried paint. Layers of it. Forming men and women and adventures.

I would do the same at night. It was to escape the pain that would encase me.

I don’t remember the lesson I was suppose to keep, I only

Recall the patterns that were left on my kneecaps from the tile.

I would rise up and take my finger and trace the grooves until they dissipated

And allow myself to get lost in the patterns once more.