November 2nd

I wrote this years ago, but it has a special place in my heart for being one of my first genuine attempts at a poem. There's a lot to clean up, but it would probably be best for me to move on.

“What does this do?”

Leave it by the window,

because it will glow

when it catches the sun.

 

“Really?”

Would I lie to you?

Answer me honestly.

Have I ever?

 

Actually don’t answer that.

Let’s talk of the future instead--

wait, no,

that will only cause heartache.

 

Let’s make bracelets,

yes, something innocent.

I’ll stop stealing glances

if you do.

 

“Have you made this knot before?”

No.

“Do you want me to teach you?”

Always.

 

Finished?

Wrap the thread around my wrist--

not too tight, please.

Stop looking at me that way.

 

Or just kiss me again,

make your choice.

I’m waiting patiently,

and you’re still holding my wrist.

 

Toss me a piece of candy.

I love Reese’s.

“I know you do.”

Of course--I had forgotten.

 

Lie down, then,

and watch me

watching you.

I don’t understand your smile.

 

“Ethan wants to know if we’ll go out tonight.

Do you want to?”

Not really. Do you?

“I’m fine right here.”

 

Me too.

“But I’ll have to go out tomorrow with him.

Do you want us to do that?”

Us?

 

Has it always been us,

or only when it’s convenient

and too lonely

to separate ourselves from one another?

 

Earlier in the night,

under a starless sky,

you had held your hand out to me.

I handed you my bag instead.

 

Were you reaching for me?

Please answer my eyes.

I’m asking.

I have been all night.

 

But you just lie there.

And, my God, you’re beautiful,

but the way you’re looking at me

hurts more than any betrayal.

 

So I sit quietly,

string beads along a thread,

and try to keep my fumbling fingers

from f*****g up something special for you.

 

“Do you need help with that?”

I’m no good with knots.

Here you go.

Please fix my mistakes.

 

But he just adds more beads,

his fingers infinitely more practiced

and calm than mine will ever be.

Would you please stop looking at me?

 

“Give me your hand.”

What?

He takes it anyway.

Please, not too tight.

 

“Is that good?”

Yes, except

I had made that for you

to wear as a reminder of me.

 

“Well I was making it for you.”

Well in that case,

it’s perfect, 

though his words feel like a lie.

 

Later, he drives me home.

That’s the fancy restaurant,

the one with the balcony.

Have you seen it?

 

“No, but you always talk about it when we pass.”

Silence, then small laughter:

we’re just poor college students.

“Do you want to go there sometime?”

 

Jokes about dining and dashing,

partners-in-crime at it again.

We look to the same starless sky.

Or maybe there were stars after all?

 

I honestly can’t remember.

Perhaps that’s for the best.

Wherever he is, I hope the sun-catcher

still glows on his windowsill. 

 

Reviews

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

I really enjoyed reading this poem. Reminds me of being young and unsure of falling in love. The moments where you hesitate because you are unsure of whether the other feels the same attraction or not. So instead of taking that chance and putting your heart out there you instead choose to allow the opportunity slip away until a next chance may come. When you have no doubt. And sometimes those moments never come back around again. They are lost. Good submission keep writing and sharing your art.

[Chris]

A slice of life piece...felt valid and not ambiguous. Even a touch of "Can't we be friends", to it.