There was something there beyond the fence –
something that shouldn’t have been there,
shouldn’t have been so close to your mate
and the people you lived with,
and you knew you could get it,
you could protect them.
Cullen, come!
Listen –
sometimes the leather and wire
of collar and fence
are weaker than will,
less lustrous than longing …
Cullen, where are you?
And listen –
always the rubber and steel
of cars at speed
are stronger than headstrong,
more final than bone.
Cullen, come!
But listen –
when eagerness passes understanding
and life flees faster than time,
what you must do is simply run:
for joy or from pain or just to keep up.
You have to be running …
Cullen, where are you?
So listen –
even then, as your body fell,
your spirit kept running –
unknowing yet running –
running, still running,
running
still.
George McDermott was born and raised in New York, educated at Harvard, SUNY Albany and NYU, and I now lives in central Pennsylvania. For thirty years, he has been a full-time writer of nonfiction, speeches, and film and video scripts. His poetry has appeared in Lyrismos, Poetry Continuum, and Pivot.