Memo to Midnight Dove
by Peter of the Earth

Me and you must never part
Makki Dadda
Makki Dadda
We so close you know my heart

Where
           Truth
                    Lays
                             Hidden
Buried beneath the seems of Time
And we”¦

Adorn its fabric

When I am completely honest
I admit to loving you more than I ever have any man
Try to see the what ifs that everyone else says is clear
And
I can
And it
Is
Good
Like seven days of creation
But there is where it ends, see
Agents Mulder and Scully can only be friends
The day they get together is when the series ends
Sam could never marry Diane
Understand Urkel-Laura tension must continue
Few television couples can seldom be because
They keep other people’s passion burning
Along with their own

If we were to give in
The sun might burn out
Or at least a fuse
Look
What we’d create”¦

No, wait ”
I contemplated the what-ifs sincerely
In fields where we watched our reflections look
Back on us and laugh
Maybe this was the way we would always be
Maybe this way we will always be

Have movie sequels
Special television Christmas reunions after twenty years
”˜Cause even Cheers ran out of stories told.

Maybe this way we’ll be immortalized
On late night television syndication
Playing on every station around the world like
“The Honeymooners” starring you and me
Forever”¦
Maybe””
No””
Only this way can we look back on our glory days
Wrapped in some rainy evening In some smoky Cafe
Where we finally had a Friday night commitment
That freed us from TGIF
And when we left
After winning nationals a second time
Saw the world unraveled
Time’s threads
Revealing truth’s secrets
Left naked
Unabashed
And beautiful

We’ll have stories
Stories to tell our children’s children’s children
Woven into them like our parent’s parent’s stories
Are into us

Maybe
Just maybe, baby
Meet me in that field when we’re 82.
60 years from now
It’ll be the Sunday before Labor Day
You’ll be wearing red I’ll be wearing blue
We’ll reflect on our younger selves
Look back and laugh
Drink herbal tea
Play spades
Listen to our voices etched into whatever recording device is then being used
Some young one will have to turn it on for us
And we can stay until the Angels take us home
Or
We grow tired
Or
Whatever

Because sometimes “I don’t know
Is the only answer that won’t confine our freedom

Our younger selves will sew us caterpillar ribs and moth wings
Swing dance until the thunders come down
We’ll sing Lauryn Hill songs
Be butterflies
Leaving hurricanes
Where we once left
This world

Read The Calling

Download a PDF Poem Tribute