Young Writers Society

[pre]To Mock a Strangerbird

I know you
said the mockingbird
stirring up my mind.
I know you, but what is know?

I know my strangers:
Headlights flashing through fence breaks,
Blue-bright and aimless,
Sometimes glaring like sun off glass
They turn off on side-roads,
Toward me.

I know you:
Driving past my side-road post
Up to the stars,
Taillights flaring,
Not definite in your distance,
Not even sure if you are still here or there...
…I knew you.

The rain wordlessly drops
On the mockingbird’s wings.

I know of my friends.

All their colors are flying to different souths,
And the mockingbird is crying all cries,
Wheeling up, dancing around the storm,
Away from you:

The you in my scrapbook yearbooks;
The you who I cut off, for some inexplicable reason;
The you I love and will lose in unsure years;
You, the representation of my past.
This is what I see from the Dashboard.
I know this:

That every person will leave here
With completely different perspectives
Of this poem,
This country,
This race,
This life,
So go.
Learn of your friends
And meet your strangers;
The little girl who tries to catch smoke in her hand;
The business man who forgets his coat on the bus;
The hobo who drums on a bucket,
Watching you go past every morning and evening,
Counting your steps and
Holding out his heart for you to take.

Whoever your strangers may be,
If they’re you, or if they’re me,
You know them.
You know me?

It’s time to be honest now,
For the mockingbird to choose a
Destination.

Hi, my name is Shannon.
I don’t believe I know you.[/pre]