Poetry

Wayward Son

I didn’t mean to get this close to the water, but I did.

pier-346312_640

I didn’t mean to go out that near to the edge, against your wishes, but here I am now, at the bottom of the lake.

It’s all my fault or maybe my destiny to miss graduation, growing older and life in general.

All those things that my friends will do.

I listen when my father comes down by the lake and plays blues on his guitar like it should be played, like I might have done but that was another life – and I was not mean to have it.

I feel I must stay in this watery world at least until my great-grandmother has finally stopped tilling her garden, until my Gran stops lighting her single candle every night, until my little brothers grow up, and my mom and dad finally move on.

I need to stay here to warn other kids not to get caught up in the magic wingspan of the white crane, not to go all the way to the end of the ledge, not to disregard human life in a shallow way:

to appreciate more,

complain less,

be kind to others

and not take a single morsel of vibrant, unfair, chaotic, possible life for granted.

That is what I would tell them. And one more thing:

I might say though, how beautiful Savannah Green looked when she threw the flowers….

cast deep….

watery down….

into this lake

on our graduation day.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s