Living Large

I have a simple memory,
getting off the bus from school
in the late afternoon
and running through piles of leaves
my neighbors spent hours collecting
and depositing in neat little stacks
along the side of the road.
Grabbing a granny smith from the bushel basket
in the garage and bursting into a house warm and
smelling of baking bread.
Cartoons on the television, sitting on the floor
and waiting for mom to finish dinner.

I walked a simple path,
getting of the bus from the airport
in the late evening.
Olive drab duffel bag slung over one shoulder
and straightening the cover on my head.
Walking across a parking lot, I find my friend
who came to pick me up from boot camp
in his beaten up ford truck
with wide welcome etched in his face.

I heard a simple sound,
uttered by a man in black.
He spoke to me of God and plans
beyond my understanding.
This was why he had to die, he said,
this was where the meaning lay.
But I couldn’t help but cry and curse
and clench my fists at my side.

I dreamed a simple dream,
she came to me then, while I was unprepared.
Standing before a mirror, cufflinks undone
she did them up for me with soft words
and loving smile.
Her lingering memory haunting my being
as only a half thought dream could.

I lived a simple life,
ups and downs each marked with tears,
riding high enough to challenge the sun,
or crushed on the asphalt with grit and blood in my teeth.
When I meet St. Peter on that fateful day,
he’ll find my pockets empty of unspent days
and my baggage bereft of regrets.

I have a simple thought,
live today,
remember every yesterday,
and forever live large.