by Chris Rodgers

My friend said of that spring morning
“I went outside and I looked up,
I raised my hands to the sky
like bare branches of a tree
and I felt nothing
except small,
very small,
and lonely,
an utter fraud.
Then I thought
about my parents,
how I missed them,
and my eyes brimmed with tears
that streaked down my face.”
I told him one could live
an entire lifetime
and never feel
this way,
not once,
and how lucky he was
to find himself at such a null,
so needful he was filled to overflowing.

— from Juniper Volume 5, Issue 1