But then I had to laugh. I realized

how many of the things I feared in life

were likely just as much afraid of me.

I knew I could climb out then, and I did—

digging myself a sort of runway up.

Gasping for breath, I knelt down in the field

between the tall straight rows of sunlit corn

and swore I’d never be afraid again.

They found me the next day and brought me home.

That’s when I started getting into trouble.

My teachers always wondered why a kid

as smart as me would lie so shamelessly

or pick a fight for no apparent reason.

She wondered, too—as if intelligence

was ever any guarantee of goodness.

V.

I used to read at night back in my room.

I liked adventure stories most of all

and books about the War—To Hell and Back,

The Death March at Bataan. You know the sort.

There weren’t more than a dozen books at home,

mainly the Bible and religious crap,

but back in town there was a library.

The books I liked the best I used to steal.

I filled my room with them—Pellucidar,

The Dunwich Horror, Master of the World,

Robur the Conqueror, Tarzan the Untamed.

I didn’t want them read by anyone but me—

not that the folks I knew were in much danger

of opening a book which had no pictures.

The more I read the more I realized

that power was the only thing that mattered.

The weak made rules to penalize the strong,

but if the strong refused to be afraid,

they always found another way to win.

Sometimes when she dozed off, I’d slip outside

and head off through the trees behind the house.

She said these woods had been a pasture once,

but now a second growth of scruffy pine

covered the fields as far as you could see.

I had a special hiding place back there.

Near the foundations of a ruined farmhouse

there was a boarded-up old well. I’d pried

a couple of planks loose covering it.

If I came there at noon, I could look down

and see the deep black sparkle of the water

framed by the darkness of the earthen walls.

At night it was an emptiness of must

and fading echoes that could swallow up

a falling match before it reached the bottom.

Sometimes I’d stretch along beside it dreaming.

I knew there was a boy who’d fallen there.

His family had boarded up the well

and moved away to let the trees reclaim

the fields they’d spent so many years to clear.

I wondered if they’d ever found the body

or if it floated there beneath the surface,

the features bloated like a sopping sponge,

the skin as black as the surrounding earth.

I didn’t mention it to anyone.

This was my place. I didn’t want it spoiled.