This child’s pack, still pink and white, was yours.
Your slender shoulders never fit the loops.
The way you used to hitch and heft is gone.
Yet this is the one that I select
to bear your memory on my path,
the knap I lift and the road I own
to measure the property of my track.
The straps which cut my shoulders load
and bear your loan upon my back,
to carry you as I once could—
as once I always thought I would.
I set my strength against the right of hills,
my stride against their burden and their breadth,
and each step bears my weight, your name my text.
Marc Wiegand has attended various universities, institutes and courses of study (some “self”), among these, the University of Texas, and holds a B.A., and two graduate degrees, one in law. None with distinction. He has studied abroad in England, Mexico and Italy. He is an international lawyer and exhibiting visual artist who lives and works in the Texas Hill Country.
A Closer Look:
and Geoffrey Himes
Ginny Lowe Connors
on Matthew Thorburn
Mark F. Wiegand
Anne Harding Woodworth