stuck.

stuck...
mud is also
thicker than water.
when i was ten
Grampa and i
took a long walk
up the road
through wet cow pastures
for a stroll on the moon
across the orange fence
on fresh concrete and mountains
of dirt acres high
bulldozers, grazed out,
slept in peace
still warm
i know, i climbed on
small muddy hands
left streaks
someone left the keys inside
i told Grampa we should
get in and drive it home
he told me to get down
now
i did.
i wasn't to get my shoes
muddy
on a construction site
in the rain
but that smoooooth puddle
looked exactly as deep
as the sole of my sneaker
i might skate
just under the limit
but
it swallowed my thigh.
Grampa's back was

so much taller
moving away fast
but he said
Don't. Get. Muddy.
my lips were sealed
my voice in the bottom
of my shoe, full of mud
it held fast
warm as a mouth
sucking on my leg
balanced on one shoe
stretching for a blade of grass
the color of concrete
i wondered if anyone
would find
my chubby body
curled into a circle
at the bottom of the mud
like pompeii
and if my mom
would miss me.
help. please.
my held breath
escaped
all i had left
were my eyes
begging Grampa to hear
he did. 
in one stride
small back 
became large hands
even he, tall angry man
had to pull
with all his coiled size
the fear in his face
hurt more
than the teeth in the mud
it took my shoe. 
Grampa swore. 
i stood next to a puddle
in the rain
listening 
to my faults
as my ribs cracked 
under the strain 
of keeping sobs inside
and my eyes
grew an ocean
in unspent tears
i limped home
behind
across cow pastures
one shoe
still stuck
in shame.
(h.t.)