Countdown to LIE continues and a poem from HIGH SCHOOL/A Reflection from today
Caroline Bock - Author of BEFORE MY EYES and LIE
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Caroline Bock-BEFORE MY EYES

Countdown to LIE continues and a poem from HIGH SCHOOL/A Reflection from today

A POEM FROM HIGH SCHOOL and A REFLECTION FROM 2011   

I am here,
And I’m lonely.
I live, eat and talk with you.
You listen while reading the paper.
My tears are shrill, deafening.
Sitting on the toilet seat,
I cry them
into a raggedy towel.
 You bang on the locked door and
yell at me to get out.
I attempt to tell you my problems,
I know you have enough of your own
But I can help you too.
Tell me what you’re feeling….
I know.  Alright. I’ll grow up.
You turn your back to me,
reverting to the work stacked on the desk.
My voice unhinges.
You said you’d listen.
I stop in the middle of reciting my poem;
you’re not listening.
I know you have more important things to do.
You probably think I’m a fool.

(originally published in OPUS at
NEW ROCHELLE HIGHS SCHOOL)                         

 --   I grew with a single parent, my father.  He raised four kids alone.  My mother had a stroke that left her brain damaged, paralyzed and hospitalized since I was four-and-a-half years old.  When I was in high school I felt particularly desperate.  By then,  I was responsible for my three younger siblings, in charge of the  housework and meals for my family.   I wrote this poem in 11 grade.  My high school literary magazine, Opus, at New Rochelle High School published it.   This poem, never titled, made me realize that I could channel my emotions, my raw loneliness, into writing. All these years later, this poem still resonates for me.  How did my father react to it?  I don’t think he did.  He didn’t read, or listen to, my poetry.  Will he read my LIE, my debut novel?   I can’t say for sure, but now I know, I am not a fool.  I did the dishes, the laundry, made dinner and wrote.  I grew up.  Writing shaped and defined me, carried me through the worst times in my life, and the best. Though,  I have to admit, I hope he reads LIE.   After all these years, I still want him to listen, to hear me,  to acknowledge me --  why?                                                                                                                 

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