The Story of Progress

The apple Iheld and bit into was for me. The friend who spoke to me
was for me. My father and mother were for me. The little girl with
brown hair and brown eyes who looked and smiled shyly and ran
away was for me, although I never dared follow her because I feared
she would not understand that she was tor me alone.

The bed I slept in was for me. The clothes I wore were for me. The
kindness I showed a dead bird one winter by placing it in my warm
pocket was for me. The time I went to the rescue of my sister from a
bully was to prove myself, for me. The music on the radio, the books
I was beginning to read, all were for me.

I had hold of a good thing, me, and I was going to give of my contentment
to others, for me, and when I gave, it was taken with a smile
that I recognized as mine, when I would be given. I had found that
for me was everybody's way, andI became anxious and uncertain. I
held back a bit when I exchanged post card pictures of baseball players,
with a close look at what I was getting in return to make sure I
was getting what I could like, and when my parents bought me a new
pair of gloves after I had lost the first pair I was sure that for me was
not as pure in feeling as the first time, because I was very sorry that
my parents had to spend an extra dollar to replace my lost gloves, and
so when l looked up at the night stars, for me remained silent, and
when my grandmother died, tor me became a little boy sent on an
errand of candles to place at the foot and head of her coffin.

(1998)