I was writing in my 10-yr journal this morning; each page contains an entry for the same day for ten different years. I saw that one year ago we got the news of the Las Vegas shooting and the death of Tom Petty. It affected me deeply. I cried at work; the woman in the cube across from me played Tom Petty songs all afternoon. It motivated me to search for this drawing I had done in my younger years. Also, it motivated me to write this poem.
MOURNING PETTY
It was already a tumultuous time:
floods and hurricanes washing away
cars, homes, and lives.
The morning of that day
brought news of a horrifying mass murder;
a sniper in sin city,
mowing down music lovers.
Then came the unbearable
cherry on top:
Petty found lifeless,
plugged in/unplugged.
The news was confused
yet clear.
He was gone.
My brother told my mother
I lost “my man,”
referring to the sketch I drew
when I was young,
and so was Petty.
For a few years his image smirked
on my bedroom wall
as I rebelled against a “normal life,”
following music from club to club,
thirsty for meaning.
His nasal voice held emotion like cupped hands;
Wildflower, listen,
there’s no need to be thirsty
when you can drink from the spring
of creativity and life.
Forty years’ worth of his music
and it felt as if he told the story
of all our lives through song.
American girl, he reminds me,
keep searching.
Copyright 2017 Susan Merrifield Desrocher
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