ManicDDaily

Updates on Etan Patz

All day I return to it – the stark print underlined in red like a stripped throat;
the picture, if I click–the face that seems all hair, that soft fine down
that so often heads young kids, thin even as mop, like knob of joint on child bone–

Throat catches in stairwell seen through glass, a square in thick paint door, how I remember them in Soho, all those old factories huge as elephants, stairs wrinkled/stretched/collapsed like so many trunks; no, throats; outlined in black-cracked red the squares of linoleum, glass gridded as a crossword, only mute, ruffs of papers stuffed around the knobs, calligraphy like throats–what’s black and white and re(a)d all over?  Not newspaper, but Chinese menus–

Only online today, it’s underlined in red with slight-toothed grin, cheeks to be grown into, the same photo so many years we saw on the blue/red torso of milk, only then the black/white/grey of blow-up, Etan Patz, your sweet face blurred still hard to swallow–

later, my own–don’t you ever –the baker’s near-bare shelves mid-afternoons, Italian breadcrumbs a host of Hansels–

Even speak – don’t you ever-–

Making sure–again, again–well, if you have to speak, yes, you can be polite, but–the Portuguese greengrocer stubbled–but you get nervous you go into–grouch if you touched a grape but would help I hope/think/pray–

Joe’s pizza, black shined hair, all thumbs still on the young ones–

Not car, not alley, not down stairs–scream if you have to—

Rocco’s waitresses–their tight breasts squeezed in uniforms like nurses administering cannoli–they would help you, sure–with beveled glass–

He strangled Etan, the man says now, and put him–

he strangled him, he says–

if you get scared

and put him

don’t you ever

in a box.

You just go into

A carton on the counter next to small gnome fridge–

his black and white face greyed
as droplets–no A/C on fifth floor walk-up–slide
like tears down its red-waxed sides–

I click again, again; throat hurts.

********************************

This draft poem written this evening for dVerse Poets Pub “Meeting the Bar” prompt on “stream of consciousness” writing, hosted by the wonderful Victoria C. Slotto.  For those who get by email, I’ve changed the end since posting. 

A part of me really hesitates to post anything about Etan Patz.  I feel such sorrow for his family;  I would hate to add to their pain in any way or to seem to be voyeuristic or opportunistic.  I really hope that my sympathy comes through and that they may feel some sense of support in so many people caring for them and Etan.  (I also hope that the media leave them alone.)