Six Notebooks

I think he’s dead, she said
I think Buddy Jones is dead
I don’t know what I think about that
BJ being dead, Buddy Jones
Decomposing in the grave

This morning I do the math
He would be Sixty-six
Or so, dead or alive
Sixty-Six years
And I have carried him for Fifty

Some years ago, I considered
Hunting him down, Texas
Where he and his family fled
But try to search for a
Buddy Jones in Texas

But vengeance is not mine
Nor is it the Lord’s
Of my understanding
Who I understand not at all

She said every cell in your body
Is new since then
And every cell in Buddy Jones’ body
Is also new, or dead

I dream of vengeance no more
Mostly I just want to tell
That young me
That six-year old me
It’s going to be OK

And mostly it is
As I look at a painting I dreamed
A yellow room, yellow walls
A message back to him

And I don’t know what it is
That message across space and time
Maybe it’s just someday
There will be ease
And maybe some day
A bit more

PWS 2023.10.10