Admiration Influence and Boyhood | A Poem

 

I knew all the corners of the property

from the orchard to the rickety cottonwoods

We built a fence along the power lines

clear cut like a raceway

a parallel excursion not but a stones throw

from the center of the fescue and crabgrass sponge

seething with white clover flowers we all fondly called

“yard space.”

That fence my brothers and I helped our father to build

something about barriers and privacy

but I know he thought himself a protector and a storyteller

with all the subtleties of Max Lucado.

I wanted so badly to be like him

to be him

a rugged burlap husk of a man who knew how to work

hands coarse and rough like brittle sandpaper

What else could a boy like me aspire to be?

Me sweating through the yard work

and evening construction

a provider has to get their start someway

 with something

  with someone

There surrounded with other boys, men and more men

I had to know I was not raised to be a weak individual

I was relied on

 trusted

exalted by fathers, grandfathers and deities.

Call me prophet where I nurture the places I walk.

Boyish hands have to bleed before the callus grows

before the man can be made

 so I diligently tore the skin

All so that I might hear him say

I am his good son

and know that I am now

enough.