by Dave Gourdoux
A young boy,
thirteen, maybe fourteen years old
is standing on the shore of a river,
wide and deep and slow, its surface glassy smooth.
He is dressed in a plain black t-shirt and
blue jeans coated with a thin layer of brown riverbank dust.
It is late August, warm ,with a gentle reminder in the coolness of the breeze,
that summer is almost spent, almost gone.
He reaches to the ground and picks up a rock,
black and smooth and cold, it fits perfectly In the palm of his hand.
He lifts the rock to his shoulder
and in one fluid motion he releases his grip and sends it airborne.
At the precise moment the rock leaves his hand,
many, many miles away
you are born,
and you begin the trajectory of your lifetime,
until the rock meets the river’s surface with the violence of the splash that gives way to gentle ripples
that quickly fade away,
and when the last ripple has vanished,
many, many miles away
you die,
and you rest,
all pain and suffering stilled,
warmed by the memories of those you loved
And the places you visited
in this too brief a moment
we call a “lifetime.”
/
Drivel by Dave 
Beautiful and poignant. So good to read your thoughts, Dave.
Dave, I miss you so much. We shared so much and had so many lunches together every month for a decade. Not only did you help me to write better and improve my short stories, but we also shared our feelings about writing and beyond. We had planned to have a meal together after the celebration, but there was no time with Debbie ready to go home. It’s sad. What is ongoing is your writing. It is as visual, as flowing, as sensitive as ever. You and Marshall are stepbrothers. Each of you has your own style. I can tell you for sure that both Darleen and I are enamored of your gentle sensitivity to bring to the reader a living poem they can go into. Darleen misses you too. I feel the poem you wrote is from within you. Marshall was in your mind, but it was also about you. Your dear friend forever, Jim
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Jim, I’m not sure I have the words to express how much this poem means to me…Marshall was the wordsmith and could always find the way to express these things. But I do know that he would have loved it and he loved you and was so grateful that your paths crossed. Thank you for making the trek to Kenosha to be with all of us. I will be thinking of you. Kathy