by A. Van Jordan
Well, once a path is chosen, there’s no limit
to where you might arrive. Imagine his playing,
high above layered rooftops and along the edges
of trees; at one point, following the curving line
of the park or the grade of the grass;
at another, the invisible whims of the breeze.
Imagine him sheering off as soon as the range
of the city’s rooftops disappear and deciding
here, here is where I’ll drum, here is where I’ll
play the cop and the robber, and here I’ll
fall asleep like a bird, tucked head under wing,
a world of limbs and leaves to support me.
Once a boy dreams, there’s no limit
to where he might soar off, above
pointing fingers and straining voices
trying to name his species. A boy
like that would seek a laughter
loud enough to reach him
above anything pointed at him,
above anyone approaching him,
above any sound thin enough to pass
through the gossamer of his dreams
and just disappearing into a murmur
below him too faint to offer a reason
to look at what could possibly disturb
the object of his day.
Poem copyright 2022 by A. Van Jordan. All rights reserved.