Do you remember walking downtown Seattle? The aromas of,
of course, coffee,
filling every space, mingling with all that rain to come, rain that
had been-all that damp.
And we ate pizza, Chicago style,
Italian style, whatever style because pizza was my favorite, along with you.
And everything was affordable because we had no knowledge then of
families or budgeting or mortgages.
We
were
kids playing house. Sort of. Except that
then I was never any good at it.
We went
when grey was turning green
and we, too, were still so
green
and
at night, your arms around
me, long,
like the branches of all those trees
in that sad but promising state, surrounding me when
I’d cry, my tears natural there where it rained all the
time. My
mood dreary
as
any winter in Washington.
No sunset noticeable in
a place where no sun shines
and so I didn’t see we
were cleaving but for a time
because Broadway plays and bookstore
browsing were all that lay on the
horizon of my still young heart.
A life planned to echo youth and a hope that
you would always be my haven.
I saw Jesus in you,
you know.
When time after time and trip after trip, you carried
me home and watched me sleep. When
we sang in church and
hiked mountains of forgiveness,
weathered headaches and hangovers,
roommates and pour the wine
and philosophical talks past the wee hours and I translated poetry into
French but couldn’t translate my own slurred language into sense.
And your patience took me through.
And I remember everything. Things I shouldn’t
And I don’t have a clue who you have become
but
those memories form imagination and it’s not hard a stretch to find you well.
At Bluebell Books and accepting award from Hyde Park.
I nominate C Rose
