For Jim: An Alaska Rambler

I think of how you must have been in bygone days with friends from your boyhood. From things you’ve said, I picture you back then blazing trails and camping in the Cincinnati Wood. And then perhaps you stood a man at seventeen with one carnation pinned onto your suit. Vernal still, and on the threshold of your dreams, you’d blaze a path anew and leave your roots. Years passed. Only you can fill in all the spaces of what you heard and tasted; what you did; pursuits, accomplishments, and the many places, and when you found Alaska, I was just a kid! I’m certain that you felt at home, grew bold on the tundra, moved with feline grace, and maybe kayaked there, viewed double rainbows, hunted, and knew the color of gold, climbed mountains and inhaled the pristine air. You’ve seen the eagle soar; fulfilled a destiny. So much you’ve done in all your fruitful life. You served your country, married, made a family, coached softball, taught and traveled; loved your wife. Today you move more slowly, or so you’ve told me. I’ve never seen your face. Better do I know your soul. I see you as a wine finely aged – mulberry, red and sweet – not bitter – and you long for a life that’s full. Behind closed doors you sit alone in your chair. I envision books displayed, numerous on a shelf. Despite this show of knowledge gleaned, your house seems bare. Your family’s gone, and you’re having to care for yourself. You like to frequent restaurants and watch a little TV, but friends have passed. You need a fresh new plan. Forge a new frontier, my friend. Exclaim your poetry. Poems should have a purpose, and so too must a man. May 29, 2022