poem for a friend
this is the privilege and pain of
growing up
bearing witness
knowing you both at 10 and 43
14, rescuing me from my own prison of shyness
19 growing up faster than our bodies can hold
at 26
and 12
the intimacy of childhood
having borne witness to each other’s
messy evolution
to our becoming
knowing the self and all the other selves
in one moment
bearing witness to this era
of crumpled tragedy
still wanting to leap back and shield you,
a small, lanky-limbed child
from the oncoming
collision
to lunge in front of the heart
before the delivery of heartbreak
in childish heroics
we bear witness
gripping with white knuckles
with eyes wide and wild at just how
unfair
it all is
witness
***
(Featured image from Pexels)