We Were Kids

 

We were kids caught in a river

but could not feel the flow

or where it was taking us.

Some few swam towards destinations.

They knew that others had gone there before

but they could not have known the journey

or that they would scarcely pause there

before swimming on.

Some drifted, in delight or despair.

Some sought quieter water; a few drowned,

but we were all being pulled

toward an unimagined ocean.

 

We were almost a school of fish,

vaguely aware of other schools

in the vastness of the river,

but with instinctive ties to our own.

We knew, or thought we did,

things about our schoolmates,

and this pretended knowledge

was almost enough to keep us

from seeking the real person

we had summarized in a phrase or two.

And we were each

the most important person in the world

to someone, often ourselves.

Much as we needed some someone,

we were too often afraid to explore

unknown waters, other swimmers,

waiting instead for someone

to find us and our hidden treasures.

 

If we were lucky we found a real friend,

someone who is important still,

alive or dead, fifty years later.

In the stillness we sometimes find now

we hear the murmuring ocean

and hope it is still far away. 

Near or far, we still have time

though less by half a century

than when we were kids,

to get beyond the old summaries,

to know and be known

while we are still in the river,

before being carried into the sea.

 

Jeff Arnold