It was the summer of 72,
just beyond the previous winter,
I would stay home,
amongst my school friends,
chums, the guys I hung with
all school year.
Yet I didn’t know them,
because the 12 summers before,
when I began to remember,
around the age of four,
I’d spent elsewhere
in a different world,
a time zone whose style
didn’t match up
with the hometown crowd.
It was there I lost him,
imagine the imbalance in my mind,
a good friend
labeled my survivor guilt one time,
and I haven’t been able
to look past that ever since.
She gave a freedom
to realize life has reasons
and they’re not always mine.
So it is then that I reflect upon,
when today, I can barely breathe at all.
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