Dennis Baby Picture1
Earliest Memory
by Dennis Trujillo

I’m crawling in a wondrous cave.
Silver chair legs astound me
like stalactites. Yellow veneer
from upholstered chairs tinge
the ceiling where I dwell
innocent as a tiny god.
My mother, a humming presence
at the stove, sends up ancient
aromas. Cold surprise of metal
each time I touch the safety pins
that attach my stiff diaper.
I’m the baby. Little brother Steve,
who dies early, isn’t born yet.
On the sticky linoleum,
I spot a mushy bean—my infantine
brain says food, so in it goes.
Now in my sixtieth year, I find
it strange that beans have always been
my favorite food and that among
five sons, I’m still the baby.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ON THE PHOTOGRAPH: Here I am at three months anxious to begin exploring caves. I don’t know why the memory in this poem stayed with me, but it is clear in my mind as if it happened yesterday.

dennis trujillo

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Dennis Trujillo is a former soldier and middle/high school math teacher who happens to love poetry. Most recent selections are forthcoming or already published with Atlanta Review, Pearl, Slant, THEMA, The Lyric, Talking River, and The Old Red Kimono. He runs and then does yoga every morning to clear his head for reading and writing poetry.