You Are a Source

by Deidre Abrahamsson

A source of new material.
You took me on my first
midnight walk
through the cemetery
in Cypress Hills.
You held my hand
as we scrambled up
the hill to where we
could view the
Manhattan skyline
and southern Queens,
sparkling beneath
the crescent moon.
You laughed when I
jumped at a sudden
movement in front of us.
You scooped up
a rogue frog.
It pissed in your hand
before it hopped off
into the dark.
You showed me your
favorite tree and
the Korean tombstones.
Across the Interboro
lay your father
who died 15 years ago
when you were only 15.
Your mother was left
with her 5 boys and
you would all steal
away - at different times -
up here
where it was safe, tranquil,
where you could be with
your father.

You led me to
Jackie Robinson's grave.
I hugged it,
whispering, Thank you
Jackie Robinson.
I couldn't help but smile.

Couldn't help
but feel in love,
in my distant way,
how we could
walk hand-in-hand
through the cemetery
and laugh and dance.
I showed you
how to Charleston,
you showed me
our city under moonlight.

What is going on here?
What is this that I feel?
I am flattered by
the attention.
I enjoy the feeling of
being with someone,
of sharing how I feel
and what I think
and what I see.

The clouds shifted
in the sky above us -
a genie, a crab.
Wispy clouds from
a Bob Ross painting.
Clouds almost black,
a sliver of a moon
that followed us
all the way home
as we walked
hand-in-hand.

You inspire me
and delight me.
You are a source
that never runs out.

The Author

A New Yorker living in Gothenburg, Sweden, Deirdre Abrahamsson writes everything from poetry to fiction to personal essay - when she is not helping organize World Championship and Olympic events. In addition to regularly contributing to Mosaic Minds, she has been published in Chicken Soup for the Recovering Soul and SiglaMag.