for and after Kevin Bertolero
Do you remember how it felt to be boys in the grass? Staining our every-thing, our now
ripped jeans we wore through the knees? It was so big then, possibility; love was
everywhere and for everything. We rode our bikes to the base of the hill where the
prefect tree was, we watched older boys amble at the waterfall. Later, I worried you
might cry, taking the short cut on the way to the bar, talking about a powerful
heartbreak. Who’s to say? It’s not appropriate to speculate. We’re so young now and
have yet to make our films in the wild upstate of New York. It’s so trite, love; memory;
friendship. They would make their ways to the top only to dive and crash into water,
giving so freely their triumph to nothing. The last time we left, I went back to check on
the waterfall, it was smaller than we remembered, but still so possible. Still so much.
Jack Bachmann is a poet and worker interested in affection, collaboration, distraction, and the earth. Jack wrote Dayglo (Ghost City Press 2019) and Soft Static Crushes (Ghost City Press 2020) and can be found on twitter @quasireader.