Late in 1962 New York newspapers reported the story of a nine-year- <br /> old child being raped on a roof, and hurled twenty stories to the <br /> ground. <br /> <br /> I draw near to the roof's edge <br /> and seek someone to lift <br /> and hurl me out into vacant air. <br /> I want to turn over and over <br /> rapidly in my plunge, my mouth <br /> open to scream but air rushing <br /> upwards jams my throat. <br /> I am seeking the peace <br /> I never once gave up on <br /> and this is the final way to find it. The living <br /> share me among them. They taste <br /> me on the ground, they taste me <br /> in the air descending. They taste <br /> me screaming, nine years old. <br /> I have playmates <br /> and I leave behind my skull <br /> in their dreams, hands to mouths. <br /> It is because they have no help, <br /> as if to hint to them the way, <br /> if they would understand. <br /> When we played it was to love each other <br /> in games. Play again and love me <br /> until I really die, when you are old <br /> on a flight of stairs.<br /><br />David Ignatow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/play-again-2/
