Poetry: “Can You Fix It?”

my son would ask me
every time he ripped paper cut-outs
for every fairy tale he’d see
he felt pain for dolls who couldn’t

His piggy bank itself
a favorite toy to talk to
while staring down from his shelf
living where it shouldn’t

I heard a crash
then a cry
I ran to him
saw tearful eyes

“Can you fix it?”
he held up his cut hand
“No, buddy. But you can.”

“I’ll fix it?”
We put a bandage while he stayed still
“Yeah, keep this on and you will.”

I saw one of his papers later
with a crayon drawing of the big bad wolf
held together by tape I didn’t put there

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Frank Ormond