Poem by Hunter Ramos

Art by Lute Campbell

There would be a time of weeping—but I could not see it from the sea.
The rolling blue meets white waves of sand,
And you teach a boy the secrets—of a lifetime on the deep.

In your hand, an orange and white pole,
And a hook between the teeth,
With a laugh that painted smiles—I hear it in my dreams.

There is a time of weeping—when the green fades to grey,
I held your hand, but I lost the man,
Who helped mold me from clay.

There is a time of weeping—when the trees release their leaves,
Cold wind whips from a northern sky,
And in the endless breeze, I become that naked tree,
Longing for the turn of spring.

But in your absence, taken to ashes,
The leaves won't come back for me,
And neither will your laughter sound,
Until you visit me in sleep.

There is a time of weeping,
When a man becomes a memory,
You taught a boy to tie a cleat hitch,
And he now binds himself to entropy.

I weep as time wears away the clarity of you,
Like it wears away the fallen leaves to mulch,
I hold tight to your memory,
Like a fishing pole that bows in saltwater spray.

I love a man who's lost to me,
I lose more of him every day.

Now he sails on a different sea—endlessly beaming at those he leaves,
If you catch nothing else, Leo, you’ll have caught the adoration of the one you taught to read.