Would You Remember?

Would You Remember?

I would like to write you a letter,
though my friends will tell you the theme
has become my common refrain;
I would like to tell you our childhood days
are where I spend the most of my lonely time.

Do you remember nights rolling down
the Story Park hill or the raw egg fights
armed with dozens and dozens, a free for all,
no enemies or allies?

I mention these because they are what I miss,
I’m a pain-a-day decade afraid I’ll never
wake up smiling again. Remember my
darkened thinking, my tears nearly every day
just because my mind drew a blank and could not see
light everyone else felt without trying? A few pills cut
them back
to once or twice a week; the secret tears
I wish I could share with someone who knew
exactly the color of blue I was singing.

But, doubled now, the pain became
the poor-man’s cul-de-sac,
the dead end with a corrugated sign of steel
stopping my thoughts from plunging into the irrigation ditch.
We called it the Los Angeles River. Some-
times
crawdads lived there.

I bet you wondered where I ended up. Or
do you remember me at all? You were the
girl in Eighth grade English with silky brown hair,
cut straight across the back.
You were the Seventh grade buddy who had
a tree house as large as a lake cabin; we ate
deer jerky after your dad went hunting, and
slept between the branches of the giant tree.

Do you remember me?

See, I’m writing you because back then we knew,
friendships should never be broken.
But now I’ve roamed so far, at least two habitats
for each decade’s passing, I have friends scattered
like bird crumbs from Oklahoma to North Dakota,
from Los Angeles through Oakland and barely
north of Portland. Farmers and technicians,
models and mothers, bike riders and Porsche drivers;
all are points on a spectrum, except

I am not part of the separated light splashed across the world;
I sit outside and observe every circle I enjoyed;
drama students, a passing stab at modern dance,
a band or two, a coffee-shop in Oakland reading poetry
freestyle on Friday nights. And, the brightest and best,
there is no guessing, the small gathering of budding
young followers of Jesus; we loved well and knew little.

I’d like to address this from my heart, rather than my home,
I’m so afraid, with the way each decade has passed, you may
not find me at my current address.

I am sad. The dreams had nearly drifted, but still within my grasp,
until failure chased them further from my reach, and pain,
--I swear I hate this constant refrain--

Has left me listless upon the ocean’s final ebb. Friend,
I hope this finds you,
happy and bright, and fully filled, within/without,
of seen/unseen spectrum’s light.