Wayward Son

I didn’t mean to get this close to the water, but I did.

I didn’t mean to go out that near to the edge, against your wishes, but here I am now, at the bottom of the lake.
It’s all my fault or maybe my destiny to miss graduation, growing older and life in general.
All those things that my friends will do.
I listen when my father comes down by the lake and plays blues on his guitar like it should be played, like I might have done but that was another life – and I was not mean to have it.
I feel I must stay in this watery world at least until my great-grandmother has finally stopped tilling her garden, until my Gran stops lighting her single candle every night, until my little brothers grow up, and my mom and dad finally move on.
I need to stay here to warn other kids not to get caught up in the magic wingspan of the white crane, not to go all the way to the end of the ledge, not to disregard human life in a shallow way:
to appreciate more,
complain less,
be kind to others
and not take a single morsel of vibrant, unfair, chaotic, possible life for granted.
That is what I would tell them. And one more thing:
I might say though, how beautiful Savannah Green looked when she threw the flowers….
cast deep….
watery down….
into this lake
on our graduation day.