The boy staring out the window,
That boy was me.
I wasn’t on the ferryboat then,
But I was that boy.
What’s out there?
Is it my life?
Will the water take me away?
Will I come back if it does?
Are secrets only answers?
Questions asked only of me.
Father had been there before.
Mother was once a girl.
A time in life.
Some thoughts covered over.
Nothing else around me,
Except water and shoreline passing.
Though not known to me,
Time was passing too.
The boy’s soul is mine.
We saw the same sights,
Smelled the same aromas,
Though time made us distant.
My father, myself, my son,
Each is in the photograph,
Of a boy looking out a window,
As a ferryboat moves through time.

Poet’s note: The above poem was written after viewing a photograph at the Benicia Historical Museum. We are who we are partly because of those from whom we arrive and we pass on to any who follow that heritage and whatever positives and negatives we may acquire on our personal journey. Hopefully the scales are tipped toward the positive side by what we pass on.

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