Untold stays ago
where the Missouri snows lay,
stood an ole’ music man in my path,
too many days gone in the counting of ways
that I never looked back.
those memories gave way,
impressions from younger days,
and, I care!
We all truly care,
yet sometimes fail to say:
“I miss you. How have you been, and where?”
Now I stand with a full life,
children on the scene
with home and wife,
where an accouterment of things
collect in the midlife –
some blessings, others dreams,
an assortment of them challenging everything.
Oh, how those Ozarks framed my head with endless skies.
I would part the leaves with speed,
barreling under canopied trees,
crushed limestone beneath tires,
brisk air into the eyes,
every left and right peer across the countryside
he’s waiting for forever,
around the corner of almost and never,
sun and moon-woven wizard hair,
cloaked in flannel, in picker's lair.
His mind, my fear, gnaws at a sentimental bite:
"You did not come back for me, nor write."
Please know that everything is okay.
Your gift to me was enough to stay.
Those chords of Seeger and Dylan
have passed to my children
in string harmony and lyric relay,
tumbling within me in a closed-loop play.
At some atomic level,
and when in need,
at the surface of conscience appears your finger-picking spree,
techniques and chords that live within me,
the fingertips of my daughter,
into the gut strings with which I taught her,
of the very same guitar,
You’re here, yet you’re there.
And I still care,
– Jason Z Guest