The tale of Brandywine is a simple one.

But you never truly know where to begin do you?

Nor do you know which grains of sand beat back the waves first hmmmmmmmmmmmmm?

We all just drift on sweet wood and bitter silt as it swirls into the climax don’t we?

But we get ahead of ourselves.

The tale of Brandywine began where all great stories begin,

On a ship at sea.

Ah romantic swaying tides tilting the torrid torrent towards us all,

Brandywine did love it so.

Balancing on the decks of the great galleon,

All the while his brothers and sisters sloshed about in the storm.

Brandywine bottled up in buoyant boundaries shared his siblings names you see,

But he did not share their taste.

But we can’t all taste of bitter intoxicating entropic enchantresses ensnaring ecstasy,

NO!

Some of us need to taste of life.

Brandywine knew this but bore his false label,

He knew that he could give trembling hands transfixed on the taste of water it and nothing else.

So the water stung the ship and Brandywine felt the fresh salt pitter off his glass.

He felt the metal of the hull that ran like a riveted river beneath twist and break.

He felt himself fly before cold dark took him.

He felt him toss and turn in the swirl of the sea as the setting for his story sailed away.

By the time he awoke he was where the waves met those single grains of sand.

By the time he was found he had lost his false label and the hands that cradled him did not care.

By the time lips caressed him he has given someone a taste for life.

We never know where to begin our stories but we know when they’re over.

We know when we’ve finished carrying our weights.

Brandywine carried water to a dying man and for him that was enough.

© 2016 Jared “I.J” Steinberg. All Rights Reserved.

#poetry