The Hanging Road

As a kid
Living out in the country
I spent many nights
On my back
In the grass
Gazing up into
The Celestials.

I remember marveling
At the Milky Way
Its billions of stars
Planets
And heavenly bodies.
It was a star speckled sash
Across the breast of night.
I was always wide-eyed with wonder.

The Cheyenne and Lakota call it
The Hanging Road
Believing it to be the path traveled
By spirits departing this life
For the other.
I understand their estimation
As I think back
Upon my own astonishment.

I guess The Hanging Road
Got canceled by the network
Or repossessed by the bank
Or maybe it’s simply
No longer a source of wonder
Having been replaced by
The NFL, the NBA or MLB.
We seem much more interested in
The Stanley Cup
Victoria’s Secret models
Hover Boards
And who did what to who(m).

I’m going, though.
To The Hanging Road, I mean.
I don’t know when, or how
But I am going to walk
The bright path
Play Kick the Can with stars
And twirl around planets
Like Fred Astaire twirled around lamp posts
While Singing in the Rain.

I mean it.
I am going.
Close your eyes
And go with me.