I’ll go to visit you
In the green fields of my youth
Your skin as soft as flowers
That dot the hillside
My mother she will hold
Your hand until she knows
That you will safely make it
Through her memories
I remember summer treats
Blueberries between my teeth
Raw cane sugar in a little bowl
Whole-oat oatmeal by the window
I can’t recall the sound
Of your voice while we sat around
The dining room table full
Of food we had to share
I loved that magnet on your fridge
Of Jesus on a tie die binge
I’d get him down to his underwear
Then dress him up again
The Siena-colored kitchen floor
the swinging swanging screen porch door
Your many-layered pantry shelves
Your late-life rebellion
I’ll go to visit you
In my mother’s arms at night
Your skin as soft as flowers
Your eyes hold futures bright
WILDsound Festival 