The Leap: A Poem For Bono—By PJ
The Leap: A Poem For Bono
PJ DeGenaro
Happy Bono’s birthday, family! Sometimes all I can do is turn him into some sort of archetype or folkloric hero. Of course, I believe he is one. How many of us have talked about U2 pulling us out of the darkness—private or shared? Tá solas ann.
The Leap
From a safe distance
You looked as small as Hop O’ My Thumb
An orphaned fox kit, lost
At the bottom of the deep valley.
You carried only the weapons of childhood:
Sharpened pencils, a few stones, a loud voice,
A secret agent decoder ring and X-ray specs
Ordered from the back of a comic book.
Maybe you found a jackknife in the trash,
Wiped it clean on the leg of your jeans
And slipped it into your pocket. Just in case.
I was lost in the valley too.
I mean, who wasn’t?
That was the year the shadow grew and grew
Till it enshrouded the forest.
We were all left to ourselves, addled and cold
Walking, sometimes crawling through the night
Through the sticking thorns and the deep snow,
Through the stinking mud and the leaf-mold
Toward where we thought we could hear other voices—
Rustlings, murmurs, small hitches of breath.
And what joy when you saw a face,
A thin smile flickering in the dark,
Before the hands flew up to cover.
That’s close enough! Stay back!
Noli me tangere.
Still, I fancied I could follow your tracks
If I kept my face to the ground.
The prints of your nimble black feet,
Tufts of your ginger pelt, your white ruff.
They say you crept into the lair of the Ogre of Death.
They say you stole his seven-league boots
And fit them to your feet,
Then leapt to the top of the canopy
And perched there, warbling at the sky
Among the visionary owls, the all-hearing bats.
And you shook and troubled the highest branches
Till the sun pierced through
And everyone finally looked up.