Tomorrow my life turns blue again—
I’m lost to the rush of the boat on the river
with my shallow bleeding blisters boasted
breathing effort into my collapsing lungs.
I don’t know if I’ll make it—
make them proud, make them happy,
please myself much less please others,
I don’t know, but there’s life in this control.
I’m the only kid I know going up the slide—
watch me, scream for me, energize me.
I know to some I may not seem it,
but I am quietly addicted to this pattern
while everything else is free flow--
Can you feel it? Suspension. Rush.
Day in and day out practice for a moment,
for a time when we achieve and goal and win.
Win. Will we? I don’t know—tomorrow
tomorrow everything will turn blue,
for the last time, can I do this? I don’t know.
But I’m craving the rush of strength
and I’ll do anything to make these puddles grow.
Author notes
Oh, no,
bleeding hands.
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