I Was Tender Before I Was Trouble

By Kabal Briar

​                 

I was tender before I had a reason.
Before the room made a courtroom of my laugh.
Before somebody looked at my wrist

like it had testified against me.

 

I was a boy with too much weather.

A little storm in church shoes.
A child who could feel grown folks go cold

before anybody changed their voice.
 

They called it dramatic.
They called it sensitive.
They called it doing too much.

 

But I was detecting.
I was becoming fluent

in the language of doors.
 

Every house has a hinge.

Every family has a volume.
Every child learns what sound gets fed

and what sound gets sent outside.

 

I learned early.
Smile first.
Apologize fast.
Make a joke if the air gets teeth.

​

Still, under all that training,

something soft kept breathing.

A little lavender animal.
A porch light with a pulse.
A boy nobody had permission to bury.