Super Strength
Created: 06/26/2005
The girl on the right is me,
the young boy in the center is my brother.
There is a black pot behind three times my size
behind us.
It is overflowing with small, pink flowers,
a faint shadow against the black sky.
A statue, painted the gray of a dusty quarter,
rests in front of the flower pot.
My brother squats behind it,
his short arms searching for a firm grip.
We are on a family vacation on the Big Island.
I'm staring out into space,
ignoring the camera spotlight,
shining on my brother.
He steals the spotlight from me again
obliviously.
He tries to lift
the heavy statue.
He looks over to me,
and I look away.
He still struggles to lift the statue,
I know he wishes for super-strength.
It takes more than super-strength to lift,
something that's always been heavy in your heart.
"I need super-strength," he says to me.
"No." My gaze falls on the statue.
I remember that he was the center of attention now,
he had center stage,
and I am the one green with envy
of my flesh and blood.
I need super-strength
to defeat the green monster inside.
This was for a summer school writing class, where I focused on a photo, and wrote a poem about it.
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