When I was a child, I could run on gravel
A week ago I lost a friend.
But he isn't lost. He's dead.
And it wasn't natural. And it wasn't some freak accident.
He was a travelling companion, a fellow tree hugger, a man who never let the child die...
...this last one (and the one below) is circa 1992, White Sands, New Mexico...I always think of this trip when I think of him.
When I was a child, I could run on gravel
Repetitive trips and bruises left me calloused
Beating my feet against the world
And the world beating back.
I grew leather-souled and insulated.
Impacts registered and blood was shed.
But the memories and tears were more transient then.
Now, I've grown up and slowed down.
The padding from those childhood summers has left me.
Now, the fear of impact has the power to puncture.
Cell memory grew and just the idea of pain cripples.
Wounds seen and unseen
Temporary and permanent
Voiced and hidden.
But when I was a child...
But he isn't lost. He's dead.
And it wasn't natural. And it wasn't some freak accident.
He was a travelling companion, a fellow tree hugger, a man who never let the child die...
...this last one (and the one below) is circa 1992, White Sands, New Mexico...I always think of this trip when I think of him.
When I was a child, I could run on gravel
Repetitive trips and bruises left me calloused
Beating my feet against the world
And the world beating back.
I grew leather-souled and insulated.
Impacts registered and blood was shed.
But the memories and tears were more transient then.
Now, I've grown up and slowed down.
The padding from those childhood summers has left me.
Now, the fear of impact has the power to puncture.
Cell memory grew and just the idea of pain cripples.
Wounds seen and unseen
Temporary and permanent
Voiced and hidden.
But when I was a child...