The cane-fields were thick and tall but the summer’s sun much higher.
We ran through those paths between the green rows of sweetness
and the laughter of your voice made the sugarcane that much sweeter.
I cut down a stalk at the risk of some farmer finding out and made a flute
and we danced on the riverbank of the Mighty Mississippi that day.
You told me to follow my dreams whatever they might become but I said
I only had one dream and it had come true that day. We were 13 and
I moved on but you died the following week.
:: 02-25-2014 ::