In memoriam Jack April 16, 2011   Jack O'Neill

Song for my son

Oh Jack you left so soon

but why so soon?

I throw my hands in the air

as if to say or to ask respectfully why?

is anything fair

or just random—

just plucked like that from the air.

Oh the times we had

the times we spent

only twenty three and

I didn’t see not then

how much it meant

but I’m glad now

for the hours shared

for the simple meals—

and deals we made about music we played in the car

be it the Kinks or Link Ray and his guitar

And I’m glad too for the times we had in tents

and talks on mountain tops and in canoes

about poetry and trains and hand made spoons—

about guys who still make things

like hats and packs and moccasins and tools.

And the stuff you made

like a pouch sewed

and a knife and leather sheath

and roots you dug from the ground

and leaves of sage that you rolled and bound

to help heal your rattled lungs

as if to say there is still a place for faith to come

still a way for hope

not yet hung

for this old world

that we the lucky ones—

without fear or doubt

still get to breathe in

and out.

— Hugh