Thursday, February 23, 2012
and you raced down the empty brick street
with the pilot hat tied tight 'neath your chin
kicking a tin can for the noise, for the din,
for the joy of a boy released from the house
where apron strings were everywhere like
fearful fingers holding wings tight to prevent
freedom, to delay flight.
I hold your shoes today--
You outgrew the need for speeding round
country corners in squared off Indiana.
You engineered bits for rockets that never left
this heavy earth.
You found peace in the ready rounding
of the lawnmower and the strong beat
of steady, friendly hearts.
You lie quietly six feet below my tears
and I hold these little boy shoes.
And feel the joy of freedom---
the way of souls in flight.