“Huntington”

A poem by Gabe Membreno

Gabe Membreno, Contributing Writer

Hi Whitman,

I didn’t walk with you.

I walked with James and Kiki.

I didn’t find you.

I read Paumanok on your rock,

Or the one they gave you,

Where you saw trees and trails:

The highest of Long Island.

They’ve grounded you as I’ve read.

You

Didn’t only look

You

Drank and went to be

You

Flowed with the wind

You

Heard yourself

You

&

I

Heard myself

I

Flowed with words and flowers

I

Sipped sodas gracefully, you’d never seen it

I

Didn’t only look.

They haven’t read me,

Walked to read me,

Past.

It’s sweet this soft light,

It’s woods I’m warm in,

Benches I sit in to bask nearby the butterflies,

Hiking.

I’m without you, Walt.

My writing will reach pages

As I have reached Jayne’s Hill.

They will see me elsewhere;

Where else I will be.

Tell me when you walk.

Write me.

Write you.

I will see.

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