pounding of small feet
bark of a rubber tree
the rough fabric of a toolbag
I'm almost too small to lift it off the ground dad
sticky pine sap from leaning on the trees
ignoring scratched legs and sand stuck to my knees
the smoulder from a long walk in the heat
the roughness of logs being placed in the fire
heart pounding, breath caught, when she looks at me that way
the face aching grin when I beat that boy at arm wrestling
the cold smoothness of my first pen knife
sore thumb from hours of whittling
straining muscles while the work is done
solid tug on a well seated cable
on my first days they ask me
how do you feel about working with all these boys?
soft fuzz of a buzzed zero
the cold glass of the mirror touched
aching chest
who is this?
back slaps and bumped fists
the steady strain of lifting weights
exhiliration from running up and down the stairs
the jolt inside of seeing a man like me
a snugness and warmth around my chest
the tension released
I can't see them any more
not in my profile
aching when I sit up
nothing compared to the pain that has been lifted
the prison sentence over
I weep with relief
a smile unbidden
the smooth plastic of the ID page
the fake leather roughness of the cover
I touch the page and I know what I am feeling