If
I Were Young Again
Michael
Lee Johnson
Piecemeal
summer dies.
The
spread of long winter blanket again.
For
ten years I have lived in exile,
Locked
in this rickety cabin, shoulder
Pushed
up against the open Alberta sky.
If
I were young again I’d sing of the coolness of high
Mountain
snow flowers, the sprinkle of night glow-blue
Meadows;
I
would dream and stretch slim fingers into the distant nowhere,
Yawn
slowly over the endless prairie miles.
Prairie
and grassland where in summer silence grows
and spreads eagle wings out like warm honey.
If
I were young again I’d eat pine cones, food of birds,
Share
meals with wild animals; I’d have as much dessert as wanted,
Reach out into blue sky and lick the clouds off my fingers.
But
I’m not young anymore and my thoughts torment,
Are
raw and overworked, sharpened misery from torture
Of war and childhood.
For
ten years now I have lived locked in this unstable cabin,
Inside
the rush of summer winds,
Outside
the air beaten dim with snow.
***
Michael
Lee Johnson lives in Chicago, Illinois, after spending ten
years in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada during the Viet Nam era. He
is a freelance writer and poet. He is interested in social and
religious topics, and the need for universal health care in the
United States. He is presently self-employed, with a previous
background in social service areas. He has a BA in sociology and
worked on a Masters Program in Correctional Administration.
©
Michael Lee Johnson