Inspired by: Childhood
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My Little Giants
My Little Giants
Photocopied Hands
Beeman Park
Wolf River
Nymph II
Nymph II
Nymph
Nymph
photo album
photo album
cracked rear view
cracked rear view
The Holly and the Ivy
swinging
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I was silent.
I could not speak to the Giants.
I was somewhere between
There and Here,
That and This,
Those and These.
Something about them had me
Trembling at the knees.
And each of them, all three
They grumbled to me:
You are wise not to speak
Less a taraddidle slip,
or a popinjay peek!
Then they were gone
Before I could say:
Who's wiser that listens
and smarter when silent?
One who wanders the dens
Of the fearful Giants?
I hadn't written a poem in a long time, and had the desire to write about giants. When I was young, I remember seeing adults as "giants" and I wouldn't speak to them, some times not even my own mother (I let my older brother translate for me). A lot of adults took that as either shyness or wisdom, and I thought it was interesting how the interpretation of my silence varied from adult to adult. So I wrote a poem reflecting on this from the perspective of a child approached by real giants.

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