What it felt like

David McAleavey

what it felt like, being the father of a new son,
coming home to a woman I barely remembered, a town
abandoned long ago? well it was pretty peaceful: I was
tumbleweed roughed up against barbed wire, I was dust

sifting. horned toads snuck around the foundations, &
the wind tried to remember something about winter, about
cold, and I was the wind, silent inside & calm.

had I been acting a melancholy scene in a tragic western,
sure of myself in the role I had, well-paid & well-tanned,
I couldn't have been more at ease. that's what it felt like

when I was told I was the son of this prairie desert, she
was my mother, my life had begun; & incidentally, life has
begun to shine at the threadbare places: maybe beyond
another version like a river is gleaming dimly along.

 

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