Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Blast From the past Pt 2

This is a poem I had to write for one of my classes in my first college semester.
It made my mother and her entire office cry when they read it. The poem is about my life, and where I saw myself 10 years in the future. Back in those days I had wanted nothing more than to become a forest ranger. This poem actually helped me realize though, that a family and a home of my own were what I wanted most out of life, and how I got there didn't really matter so much. In a way, it helped validate my dropping out, to myself at least.

Morning mist muffles birdsong and squirrel call.
The sun, shrouded in cloud struggles to rise.
It casts a pale, growing glow on a moss covered cabin.
Lonely in the dark, damp forest.

The ranger is up before the dawn,
Window panes cold and growing a frost.
He lights a lamp in the dark, dresses.
Gun and badge glisten in subdued radiance.

He is tall, and strong, but his eyes are friendly.
They are seared with the memories of friends and strangers lost.
But they shine with confidence
And love for life and family.

In the kitchen, the hound stirs.
He chases rabbits in the night,
His tail, quivering, shivering,
Like the flame on a match.

Awake to the smell of frying eggs and coffee,
His wife, bleary eyed and sleepy
Pads down the hallway in her robe.
She is beautiful in her tired morning glory

They are quiet, as forks tinkle against plates
And the lanterns flicker weakly.
The heater is on, and they are warm.
But soon the ranger must venture out.

The clock says 5:04 and it is almost time to go.
He wanders down the hall once more,
And enters on the left to see,
His daughter, cozy.
She is much like her mother.

He leans over the bed,
Plants a kiss on her snoozing cheek.
She will be five in as many short months.
And she will have a sibling sooner.

In the kitchen again,
His wife, embraced in his arms.
She will be back in bed soon.
With a kiss and a tip of his hat,
The ranger is off to work.

The days are long, and demanding.
Headlights are used, coming and going from home.
He climbs from his truck, stiff with exhaustion,
But satisfied with his days work.

From the cabin comes his child, ecstatic
And she is swept from the ground,
By strong, proud father’s arms.
She tied her own shoes today.

The ranger’s wife has felt another kick today.
It was strong, and the baby is active.
She thinks they will have a son.
She smiles across the dinner table at Daddy.

It is another cold night, and snow is falling.
Tomorrow is another long day.
The ranger ponders the glistening white ground,
And puffs a honey cigar, gently.
He is wreathed in smoke.

He thinks back, ten long years ago.
He was just a boy then
Though he liked to think himself a man.
He didn’t miss much.

His high school days of falconry, had long gone.
He hadn’t the time to hunt his hawk each day.
So he had given it up.
He missed the autumn afternoons
In the crisp leaves with his hunter.

And the days of college parties,
They’re over too.
But he didn’t miss them much, fun as they used to seem.
He had a need for responsibility now, to set an example.
And his beer was much better while it could still be tasted.

His child is asleep,
And as it gets later, her parents must do in turn.
His wife clicks out the lamp,
And they crawl into the covers,
For another restful night.

No comments:

Post a Comment