There
was a Kemp went forth every day,
And
the first something he saw, he embodied, sometimes filled with awe,
And
it would inspire or depress or confuse or remind him of some other thing,
Perhaps
not yet thought about in that same way, or since,
And
these instances of perceived wisdom or at least understanding sustained,
sometimes for many a year.
Dandelions
and caterpillars were a fuzzy fragility,
A
conduit for change and the process of weeding out,
The
screech of a mocking- or “kill-cat-” bird announces a forthcoming swoop, an
intermittently successful defense against the preying upon of its young by his seriously
deranged house-cat,
The
same fierce feline who emerged victorious against snooping German shepherds and
projectile-carrying small children alike,
The
same beautifully terrible creature removed from his world out of the blue one
day,
The
sudden still air met with relief, and deep sadness.
The
highway cutting through nearby, many times it he contemplated, it complicated,
and for some devastated,
Eventually
straightened out yet crooked still,
The
memories it created did not die and the manicured grasses are still green from
a fertile soil ripe with a forlorn sense of more preferable outcomes.
His
own parents, he with wavering faith in a foundation of stone, she with the
scars where the youngest was removed from her, also in wavering faith,
Together,
they that worked hard to simply provide, enduring, giving and taking away,
She
who left and he who stayed, the house not of his blood,
Where
then it came crumbling down, the smoke of gasoline fire still nearby,
Off
and away, the brother defends himself for country, service term obligations, college
funds, and there the Kemp, onward in his own way.
There,
along the way, were the lessons,
Of
the snapping turtle, glistening near the gurgling stream, alluring yet fierce,
hungry for fish and little boys’ fingers,
Of
the field of the copper headed snake, only a baby, yet possessing a frightful
allegiance to a genetic code, a cold-blooded manual detailing the ways of
things,
The
Kemp, unaware of such a silly thing, scooped Up and Away before an unpleasant day
at the hospital,
Giggles
and squeals, unaware of any little, or big thing at all.
Fireworks
explode and the words of God expose and the Kemp lost in the woods, on the side
of the road, in the classroom, on a bicycle, in a bedroom,
Belongings
piled up in the back of his car, the kindness of beautiful, misshapen strangers
and friends, More lessons, more reasons, more seasons,
He
learns of these, and through broken strings and the mumbled written word, a
brown bottle coinciding with the green leaves,
The
yin and yang of an old-womanhood left behind at the crumbling foundation,
voicing middle-road passions and regrets, and yet,
How
it all came to be, the cracked pavement, the low-burning gas-log, an oxygen
tube filled with smoke,
These
things became part of the Kemp who went forth every day, and into every night,
who even now still goes, and who will always go forth, unto the winds.
