I dreamed of you last night, We
were at a backyard party, and you
were with some friends:
A gym-bro, rather large, and bearded; his name
was Inga. There was also a girl
who had long, rainbow hair. I didn’t
catch her name, though she tried to tell me;
It was too noisy. You were busy monkeying with
your backpack, with something inside, pointedly
avoiding the introduction.
*
You never spoke, though Inga did. He was
quite insistent that I get his name right, while the girl
played with her hair, wanting me to see every
vibrant color, her smile sweet and kind of shy. It was important that
I like her, I could tell. And then off you all went,
the three of you.
*
You waved over your shoulder, barely
looked my way. Avoidance was always
the first clue, one I missed the last time around, but watching
you walk away, I wasn’t scared. I didn’t insist
upon seeing your eyes, or what was in the backpack.
I knew it was okay. You were okay. (It’s hard for you
to say good-bye, I know. Me too.) Just
anxious to be off, having checked in with your Turtle.
*
Be free, my boy. Be safe and
brave, curious and
adventurous, and
as difficult as it is to say good-bye,
keep checking in. I like meeting your friends.
(I write my way, I write my way, I write my way to you.)
Modesty Is For Suckers 