Today's poem is by James Shea
Poem
I was sad I was not the young boy
who passed me each day the waywater carries a ship, but I was happy
I saw him and this contradictionsaddened me, but I was pleased with myself
for having noticed it. I said, HelloThis startled him and worried me
for I thought I'll never know himintimately enough, nor fully learn
his fears. But I felt as one who waitsto unfold from a crowded train:
unsure where to go but having the timeto be unsure. We took a picture
together and he left for grade schooland I left for the States. I remember
his funny stroll and his curiosityat the shop windows and the cars parked
in his way along the sidewalk. Theywere less obstructions and more examples
of how the world protrudes out at one.I have my picture that distorts us, of course,
but what I recall most now are thoughtsof her then and our decision to never
speak again. Why do I say it like this nowto myself? I regret not sleeping with her
the way one regrets not stealingan umbrella. I remember the seashells
she gave to me and the ones she kept.I remember trying to kiss her on the bridge
and her smiling like it was a joke.What are the limits here? The lesson
from the boy? I'm thinkinga cloak of birds leaving a tree,
an empty field shorn for my welcoming.
Copyright © 2003 James Shea All rights reserved
from Jubilat
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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