I have chosen this sweet, evocative poem, "Lamb" by Richie Hofmann. It speaks directly, wistfully, to my childhood, and leaves me with an ache for my Tiger. He explains:
"I traveled a lot as a child. One constant was my stuffed animal, which might have been a lamb or a calf. The poor thing got so beat up and dirty as I dragged him from place to place. I have a distinct memory of the fear that someone would take him from me. Stuffed animals are cute and bizarre, but they’re also early effigies of attachment, eros, and death."
Lamb
by Richie Hofmann
I had a lamb I brought everywhere
who only had one eye.
At the train stations,
all the grown-ups would say, be mindful
of your things, little boy,
someone will steal right out of your pocket
or take the watch off your wrist.
My dad had a beautiful overcoat.
The lamb’s white fur got smudged.
My brother was a baby,
and in the restaurants,
the old waiters would pick him up
and kiss him again and again on the cheek
with their mustaches
and tell my parents
that they promised they would bring him back in a minute
but now they needed to show the chef.
I don’t remember when the eye became unglued
and who knows where it went.
On long train rides,
I remember falling asleep,
putting my finger in the hole where it used to be.
Once he had to go in an overhead bin,
and he was freezing when I kissed him again.
Richie Hofmann | Photo by Marcus Jackson |
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