To Thomas

We stand in a circle

under the moon.

The trees of night

sweat around us.

 

No one touches anyone.

I wait for someone to say

It was his time.

No one says anything.

 

A wood duck wails, trails off.

Lette starts humming, quietly

“Camptown Racetrack,”

the tune Thomas always whistled

to keep a steady cadence

hiking uphill.

 

While Lette’s voice climbs up

“Goin’ to run all night,”

everyone joins in.

I shiver and step back,

then can’t stop.

 

The circle moves with me,

all steadily walking back,

humming.

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4 thoughts on “To Thomas

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