A Long While

Sitting in an old kitchen chair,
Listening to stories he's told
A hundred times,
I notice his eyes begin to dance.
His face is etched with lines,
That tell a thousand tales of
Where he's been.
His voice,
Full of excitement,
Takes up the whole room.
And suddenly, I'm not in my chair.
The walls open up
Into a warm summer day.
I hear the roaring of the mighty Mississippi,
Or the song of the hound,
Fresh on a trail.
I smell the new cut lumber
In his daddy's sawmill.
I feel the wind on my face
As I ride down the highway going 120,
On a motorcycle.
I feel the wonder
As I see for the first time
A color television.
My heart aches a little
At the thought of how loyal
His little beagle was,
Even til her last breath.
I'm right there with him
As he pulls catfish out of the water
That are bigger than me.
And I begin to understand
What it's like to plow a field from dawn to dusk.
The room begins to come into focus.
I'm back in my chair again.
But I'm left in amazement
At how much I can see
Through the blind eyes of the man
Sitting across from me.
He laughs and sighs,
As if remembering one last time,
And then if no one stops him,
He begins again.