Daniela Oana - Poet and Photographer

Childhood Dirt
 
The outdoor play
Would dirty our shoes
Or scrape our knees.
We’d laugh in a chorus
Or scuffle to tears.
We’d make many chums
Or get grounded for days.
We’d swing in the summer
Or sled in the winter.
We’d turn intrepid
Or flee away screaming.
We’d turn in exhausted
And the next day relive it.
 
The given schoolwork
Would dirty our hands
Or most of our fingers,
Clumsily closing the bottles
Or playing with the ink.
We’d have perfect tens
Or ten whips on our palms,
Wearing the uniforms neatly
Or tear them at recess.
We’d use fountain pens
Or scratch our papers
Before learning the flow
Or the grace of an era.
 
The fired bullets
Dirtied our land
Or stained it with blood
With tanks like monsters
Or gentle giants
All standing courageous
Or weeping together
For the many deaths
Or leftover scars,
All fighting for us
Or the kids to come
To defeat Ceaușescu
Or to clean off his dirt.