Journey for a Child

INTO the cool, fragrant cellar,
Into the storage bin for fruit and wine,
To the rich dampness,
To the old things lying in bushel baskets,
To the haunted corners covered with a velvet cloth of dust
Every child must go,
To search out the treasure of fear.
This, once found, he holds like a jewel
And never loses.
ft is an amulet in his pocket.
It flashes red and green by railroad tracks.
It puts a spell of hatred on policemen.
It writes its holy laws in flying regulations,
And it makes a man distrust his wife,
Flavors with gall his finest liquor,
And calls him from dreams
To balance his checkbook just once more.

Sometimes a man thunder-washed by bursting shrapnel
Feels in his pocket, and the stone is gone.
A man in an airplane exultantly watching the lightning
Fall like glowing brass about him
Just beneath the thundercloud —
Or a man whose brain and breath are twisted sharp
By the sudden sight of a woman’s lace —
May forget it.

But all men sometimes reach for coins
To pay a subway fare.
And in the silver jingle of their pockets
Always that bit of ancient hard black flint is there.