Log Cabin Chronicles

Autism (For my little Thomas)


A child by the willow sat
Gazing all around
The child by the willow spat
And banged and banged and threw his head
Upon the hard, dry ground.

A golden boy with curly hair
And eyes as green can be
The golden boy cried with despair
And shrieked and shrieked and threw his throat
Into the deep blue sea.

An inside waif with nerves outside
And voice that will not speak
The inside waif moved lips to try
And shook and shook and threw his hands
Around the gentle breeze.

A little Thomas took my hand
And pointed to the sky
The little Thomas watched the clouds
And tried and tried and threw himself
To bring them to his side.

This child lives in his only mind
And very much alone
He lives a life inside himself
And bangs and shrieks and shakes and tries
He pinches, bites and hits and cries
Realities ingrown.


There are times my little man
Just grins and laughs and jumps and swings
He nuzzles, cuddles when I sing
And kisses, strokes my greying hair
I know I feel him very there
Looks deeply deep into my eyes
And smiles his lips so close to mine
I feel his breath and know his heart
I thank the world for sharing him with me.

Berit Lundh makes photographs and writes in Oslo, Norway.

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Copyright © 2009 Berit Lundh