a poem on finding an old scetchbook

by josephzizys

I took pictures
of old drawings
by my own hand
drawn many years ago

they where buried
under garbage
collecting dust
younger dreams abandoned

why so cruel
I asked myself
why so relentless
only now recovering

when I was very small
I followed my sister across the street
to her friends birthday party
like an acolyte following an icon

in the garden there
someone pushed me
into the barbs of a cactus tree
I was my own voodoo doll

the needles
made me careful
I have kept a close watch since
it is hard to look away