Where the Mountains Grew

Where the Mountains Grew 

Reading Bucowski, the poem, “starting fast” he says

“We each at times should remember the most elevated and lucky moment of our lives”

I reflected and remembered

When I was 6 or 7 years old

I was sick and weak and in the hospital with a spinal tap

With a long ass needle pushed into my back

To test the waters

And see why was I so sick

I don’t recall much honestly, of being sick and weak

But I remember when my Dad carried me from the car

To the once perfect Home, in Santee, CA

Where the mountains grew

And where my best friend

My friend who

My only real memory is of us

Bouncing on my bed in our whitey tighties

And giggling from the stomach

Real giggles

The kind only 6 or 7 year olds can muster

Drew Died there in Santee

Where the Mountains grew

He was gone missing, lost and

On the TV and

On the radio

For some time

I remember being so sad but I was so young

It did not hit me until

The search parties failed

At first

All of them

Could you imagine the effort? 

So many sweet souls searching

Their success turned into my sad failure

Drew was found so close to his home

In Santee

Behind his house

Where the mountain grew

I can see that mountain now, clearly

Poking into the sky with little vegitation

That as mostly brown and dead

Like they found my best friend of 6 or 7 years old

Life drawn out of him; bashed head from a rock

And buried under rocks

By his fucking brother

Drew was my bff before bff was an acronym

I didn’t have best friends for a long time after that

But I still remember

Bouncing on the bed of giggles and whitey tighties

I was lucky for that moment

And I still remember my Dad carrying me safely in his arms