if i were a poet, i could describe to you the way the blanket of clouds looked as i flew over new england, or the way the clouds looked through the part as the sun illuminated them from below.
if i were a poet, i could show you, in words, how the colors melted from navy through green and yellow to burning orange and shades of red.
if i were a poet, i could map out cities in golden lights that shine through the darkness at thirty thousand feet.
if i were a poet, i could tell you about how my granddaddy didn't smile as he lay there. that can't be my granddaddy.
if i were a poet, i could play for you a recording of my uncle's unchanging laugh or my father's seldom-heard sobs.
if i were a poet, i could impart the peace that i felt as we drove across flat, dark west texas and i could see the milky way and 6 falling stars.
if i were a poet, i could grow for you the water lilies that my granddaddy cultivated in arid texas that were given to us in memoriam.
if i were a poet, i could make you sit through the ride home with the awkwardness that you alone created.
if i were a poet, i could tell better stories.
