Checking In

I am cut from the cloth you keep,
and we fuss over the stitching,

over and over until we find each other

torn anew.

This dirt on that dirt is a history lesson.
Look for it and look for me in it.

Am I the same boy who only played guitar to hear you sing?

And you, the girl that held my hand first?

Laughing and nervous at what may become everything.

Are we still writing our own story?

I am.

Are we still in bed,

the morning after Hilary’s wedding,

trying to push the ring on your finger?

Drinking more water. Me, kneeling in the morning

sun on the beach in Hilton Head,

to make a proper story.

Are you still smiling that smile?

I am.

Are we still sitting on the dock,

casting our reflection into the Oconee?

Feeling a cool breeze push off the water

into the Georgia wood behind us.

Bags packed for our new life in a new state with new jobs.

Are you still willing to make that kind of leap?

I am.

Are we still driving to our secret beach?

The one we could never quite figure out the name of?

Laying on our backs in the sun

counting waves by the sound.

Are you still able to lay your burdens down and be still?

I am.

But it’s harder now.

It gets harder every day.

And yet, the bond is still curing

with a resolute firmness

that won't bend in the wind of life

or weaken in the rain of misfortune.

I am letting go of that boy.

He kept falling behind.

His story is a chapter.

What follows is our story

and I'm lost in the words.

Reviews

[Jimmy Yetts]

Heartrending and, yet, inspirational.
An impressive piece of work that says it, for so many of us--even if, my love story would require
a long trip in the Way-back Machine.
Work to be proud of, Mr. Moore!