And so I’ll sing that yellow bird’s song
For the troubled times will soon be gone.
Spring’s first flowers are pushing through
this lonely wall of winter—
such simplicity: two notes, an Epiphone
and it’s 1935, again.
The highway and the brick house
have vanished with the morning dew,
and the ancient pecan I hid behind as a boy—
I can see my grandmother through its branches.
Such a comfort to know that we will die.
The two stones in the old pasture
will become a hundred. I knew this time with you
could not last forever.
Fade in the harmonies
so the voice that strummed my heart
moments ago can become a wind
that blows this storm out to sea.
Now I know why I’m so afraid:
the sound of you carries me off
like a newborn forced to make his debut—
full of fear and longing.
Someone with my name
has been peeking from the gnarled trunk
of the pecan all morning.
Please tell him I’m not ready.
Terry L. Kennedy
Poem, copyright © Terry L. Kennedy, 2006
Appearing on the Fishouse with permission
Audio file, copyright © 2006, From the Fishouse