Scraper

I am nine and scraping
Peeling paint from the
Second-floor window
Frame perched on a
Ladder above a flower bed,
My father is on another
Ladder painting a window
Frame ten feet from me.
My mind wanders as I
Scrape away and my
Scraper falls from my
Inattentive hand,
I try to grab it but lose
My balance and fall to
The soft earth below.
My father rushes down
His ladder and runs over
And picks up the scraper
And says it is not damaged,
I stand up and carry the
Scraper back up my ladder
With a warning to be
More careful with my tools.
Though my father would
Sometimes whisper to me
As a small child
To dream of ponies as
I pulled my covers over
My head going to bed,
I learned as a child that
Some people are not easily
Able to spontaneously
Show love and concern
Or even affection,
But feel it nonetheless.
A lesson I have
Had to relearn
Often in life
At the expense
Of both my
Head and
My heart.