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.
Years later these memories would surface,
a haze, rife with impressions of my younger years.
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
where 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 countryside a surprise!
Somewhere, he’s waiting for forever,
around the corner of almost and never,
his mind, I fear, weighing a sentimental slight:
"You did not come back for me, nor write."
Oh, he’d forgive me,
my heart, grieving, through plight!
Lee, please know that all 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, remarkably.
You’re here, yet you’re there.
And I still care,
– Jason Z Guest