If I could write a poem by just throwing a bunch of imagery
on a page, then I would. And I do. For example, this weekend
was pounding floods filling up homes and clogging minds
thunderously down hills, lightning and fear, and then it was
fire in the sky and heat, steaming the water back up,
sunlight, sunburns, tank tops, sitting on concrete
running through the mud, staying up late, plans not made,
snowballs, dried throats, black coffee, red skies, board games
grass to wet to sit on, sleepy eyes, the first hint of summer, trees blooming,
washing our legs in the lake, school canceled, getting work done, with friends forever.
Soon I will be free. Am I not already free?
We talk about our futures and sing songs like we're
all gonna make it. Have we made it? Will we be alright?
Time rolls onward and forward and seasons pass and change
and I have my own car now. I will be eighteen years old soon.
I hope God stays with me. I hope I stay with God.