Tag Archives: new

Up in the Air

“I’m too shy” you said,
with a vulnerability
any 10 year old boy
would only show his mother.
And new to the neighborhood,
who could blame you
for imagining the humility of rejection
if the boy down the street
didn’t want to come out and play
and make a new friend,
which is what you hoped for
as you held the rocket launcher in your hand
and took a few steps into the street.
So I continued without you—
and in the minute it took to walk
between our house and the boy’s,
my own imagination
filled in ten thousand blanks
and I saw you two playing in the woods
catching toads
building forts
tracking mud into the house
fighting over a girl
playing baseball in the backyard
shooting arrows
falling out of trees
double dating
best man-ing—
and after I rang the bell
and watched the boy run toward you
his father and I talked about
where you and I lived before—
and he told me he was military, Air Force,
on their way soon,
like one of your rockets,
to they didn’t know where.





Words, Recycled

Nothing new, really.
You’ve said them all before—
arranged and rearranged
until they sound just right
or mean almost what it is
you wish to say.

that something almost unique
can still be said—
that books continue to be written
which use all those words you know
to tell you something you didn’t.

it’s possible to hear them
as if for the first time
when someone says to you what they’ve said
for half a life to someone else:
“I love you”—
And it feels brand new.


DeMaris Gaunt