It Hardly Matters

Saturday, September 02, 2006

A Memory

It's fall now, and cold. Sweatshirt weather. Leaves are flying through the gray air and landing damply on my plastic deck furniture, greener up close. They are starting to die.

You're here now, for some reason. You're on the deck with me, seated, and I'm standing over you. We are looking at each other, daring the other to leave, or to stay. We don't know what to do. Your hand slowly lifts toward my hip and it explodes. I'm still. The touch happens, no break in our stare. I love you everywhere, my heart chipping off into pieces then coming back together into a golden ball.

You look like mine. Your hair is blond and your eyes are green. Fingertips, exhale, a sleepy blink. I feel every nerve in my body but am numb with fear. Nothing is said, but our cells reach out toward each other's and little beams of light connect them together for that moment, for a little while, for a few months. Forever, I guess.


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