Gliding back to childhood
to catching that ball
or standing beside the creek
ankle deep in cold cold water on a hot day
waiting for the courage to be cold
for an instant
until the skin is suddenly accustomed
and you are swimming
in the blue hole
So many kids have had a blue hole
We’d throw rocks to drive the snakes out of ours
and I’d always be the last kid in
because the water was cold
and I was shy of the cold
more shy than the others or not as brave.
Our bravery was displayed
at the tops of Sycamore trees
or on top of bridges
we flaunted our youth
and laughed at danger
in ways that make me shiver
today
We were the riverside
we were the creek
we were the field
we were the friends
running
waiting for
the old man
to write this poem about us
we tree climbers
we
bridge walkers
we were
jumpers into water
we were water
we are water
we will always be young
when eternity
is old
The poet previously known as David Michael Jackson
Apr 4, 2013
