You were always one for the Rodeo,
a preference that suits a man
such as yourself.
A man I am convinced
was a bull rider in a past life,
a theory that can be proved
by observing the way you have
weathered each of life’s wild bucks
with such sublime boldness.
From what I gather,
you were never the type
to feel sorry for yourself.
Instead,
you grabbed on tightly
to the bull rope
and persevered through
every callous, burn, and scar.
You looked straight into
the universe’s palpitating eye
with respectful defiance
and accepted her turbulences
as they collided head-on with destiny–
your destiny.
And even when things
got particularly hard,
you stayed grounded,
and when I say “grounded”
I mean you remained present–
you didn’t run away
when things got bad.
Didn’t light up a single smoke
or drink yourself stupid
in an attempt to
suffocate your woes.
You are not an escapist.
You are a realist.
And, for this, I admire you.
You might accuse
yourself of not caring enough.
You’d even said
that’s what you appreciated
about your wife–
Marlene,
the quintessence of her smile
immortalized through
the vibrantly embroidered
tapestry that hangs on your wall–
the most–
the fact that she cared
more than you did.
But you must also understand
that there is a sort of
blessing in not caring.
Because, while it doesn’t make the
heartaches hurt any less,
it makes you strong enough
to withstand them,
to ride out the chaos
even when the prospect
of falling is terrifying.
What I’m saying is
that I wish I were
more like you.
And so I articulate to you
my gratitude through poetry.
Now, I also know you’ve
never been a terribly
big fan of poetry.
So then,
don’t call this poetry.
Think of it as a rodeo,
each new line break
a wild buck
only you–
Jack the Bull Rider–
can bestride.
I think maybe there was something symbiotic about my encounter with Jack E. What I mean is that he has shared something meaningful with me and, in return, I hope to share something meaningful with him.
What I have learned:
There is value in not caring. And by “not caring,” I don’t mean apathy because Jack is far from being apathetic. By not caring, I mean holding your ground and believing that good things can still happen in a world where heartache prevails. By not caring, I mean being in control of your emotions to such a extent that you don’t let life’s trials destroy you or scare you into running away. Unfortunately, one of Jack’s own sons cared too much and overdosed; he let sadness destroy him and then he destroyed himself– ran straight into the maws of death. For me, this was a reality check, because, like Jack’s son, I care too much, especially where my own sadness is concerned.
What I Hope to Offer:
Above anything else, Poetry.
Of course, I am not, in any way trying to force Jack E. to like poetry. I respect his preferences. Because poetry is what I do best, I simply want to offer a poetic expression of my gratitude for him and, hopefully, something he can relate to. Because to me, poetry should have to do less with rhythm and rhyme and more to do with relatability and being genuine. And I am genuinely appreciative of both Jack’s character and resiliency.
Grains swaying in field gif. (n.d.). [image] Available https://giphy.com/gifs/love-cute-WjWfOWiqsogqQ [Accessed 4 Jun. 2018].
