|Micah making a memory|
Making a Memory
I found him out in the backyard one hot summer day.
Sitting in my wheelbarrow, hands raised; water hose in one
The barrow overflowing, turning the grass beneath to squishy muck
The Dad in me opens his mouth. "What the heck you doing, son?"
"I'm making a memory, Dad," he said, all matter-of-fact
It stopped me cold. Fifteen years old, six feet three
Legs draped over the barrow end, between the handles
As he made a summer day into a memory.
I looked away. I did not want for him to see the tears
That sprang unbidden to his father's eyes.
When you watch them grow, you always hope to see
Something of the child you were in how they live their lives.
My boy's gone, too soon escaped from this old Earth
I don't think he knew that white hot Texas summer he
Would carve a moment into time that in the decades passingEver after always would belong alone to me.
© 2014 by Tom King