June 23, 2021My Fifteenth Year
I remember the schools
of dead carp on the riverbank,
the bonfires, the first booze
and the first smoke
rolling through me like buffalo.
I remember the novelty
of let-downs, the tilt
of my reflection,
which I looked for everywhere.
I remember the way a friend forgave
his father and mother,
how we were told to smile
for pictures, the murder in our eyes
when we were betrayed
or thought we were betrayed,
the stabbing green shoots
of new emotions. I remember growth spurts
and how my genitalia
ruled the timid logic of my brain
like a little general with a red face
and a tight grip.
I remember snickering at suicides,
rolling my eyes at old age
and at what I considered stupid and banal,
which was almost everything
except the future
and strange foreign places.
I remember thinking
the world was mine
and that I would live
as no one ever had lived before,
and as no one ever would live again.
from #71 - Spring 2021