Some Roads Need to be Straightened

Some Roads Need to be Straightened

(“He told me, “Son of man, eat what you see. Eat this book. Then go and speak…” Ezekiel 3:1 [The Message])

I can’t blame you for the gray blanket that
quilted the hills. Like worn fringes of its border,
like unsuspecting fingers, the clouds reached down
from their peaks to meet the recent and average snow
just above the lumber roads.

I’ve had shadows cover my visions on the sunniest of days.
I’ve seen question marks with unrelenting fervor.
I’ve heard too much. I’ve read until my eyes bled.
I’ve spoken up at every chance and rarely come to
a satisfactory conclusion.

I can’t argue with your observations. I’ve seen the same
darkness myself. I won’t suggest we take another route,
some days need to be shaken. Some roads need to be
straightened. And some moments last longer than the
drive we take home.

With shadows cast over us we search for the light
that covers us from the other side of the walls we lean against.
One day the friends I’ve know forever will
stay
until the end of the day
and, with pizza and cheap wine,
rewind every memory late into the night.

Have I told you how much I miss your laugh?
Do you remember the week we painted a neighbor’s house
for beer and a few dollars to spend?
Do you see that night we looked for water, listened to birds,
went to Denny’s, tried to wake the director of the Y?
Near midnight we saw his bike; he was asleep on his couch.
We tapped the window and could not rouse him.
So we found water where you always find water,
and we baptized each other in a duck pond green with slime.

Our heads popped above surface tension as the
sun rose.
And we went home to put our underwear in the dryer.

I can’t even blame myself, longing half a century later
for hikes in the hills or tunneling through snow.