For Casey

 

Little boy buddy,

Lover of bugs and all things brown –

Pine bark and deer turds, dead leaves and thick mud

Cracking in the summer’s wet heat.

 

You’d lie on your shadow-speckled blanket

Burbling and squealing with delight

as the hummingbird,

Drawn by the red of your diaper-plump pants,

Buzzed your head.

 

Chances are you won’t remember me much;

Won’t remember the words of Oliver, Berry, Keats

I read like blessings over your sleep

Hoping to infuse your dreams

with images of Earth.

 

Chances are you’ll grow up steeped

in family versions of my life -

my strange, inexplicable need

to be myself.

 

But the truth (the dirt poor truth) of this singular life

Is that my days were infused with wonder

And an abiding grace born of belonging

born of knowing

I was right with the world.

 

If I could, I’d leave you bread crumbs

Tidbits of my life

To ease your way and make the world’s disdain

Less opaque.

 

If you remember anything,

remember sipping sweet black tea on the porch at dusk;

the sounds of the crickets waking to work;

the jasmine-scented breath of waves

lapping at the rocks.  - Jenaia Morane (for The Uncle D Story Quest)

Remember that I loved you

And that your arrival made it easier

for me to go.