Excerpt from [I measure time by the distance between our encounters]
1.
Sometimes thoughts come unbidden: you, dapper, in a navy suit, me in my white eyelet dress. We’re out in the evening–maybe a reception where we stand together with cocktail plates (olives and cheese), your hand soft on my back. We’re at some sports game, women’s basketball maybe, and you teach me the rules. Or: we’re at a play, faces close, looking at the program in the near dark; I lean in and touch your arm. I could stay here in this moment forever. When I tell my friend I’m writing this about you, she asks if it is reality or fantasy. It’s a poem. It’s a poem. It’s a poem.
2.
Since I last saw you, I have walked hundreds of miles. I’ve walked in my neighborhood and on
trails through the woods. As I walk, I listen to Lady Gaga and Kelly Clarkson. I listen to
Rihanna sing “Love in a Hopeless Place” and Charlie XCX “Guess.” My friend says the cure for
heartache is sleep and movement and novelty. So I’ve filled my days to the brim. I’ve chasséd
and pliéd through dance classes. I’ve learned to make nests out of wire and yarn. I’ve finished
thousand piece puzzles, one inch at a time. I’ve written poems and essays and emails. I’ve
listened to Madonna croon “time goes by so slowly” while I turn in the dark of my bedroom.
I’ve considered our next conversation from every possible angle. I go to bed early, wondering
how you are, wondering if you are wondering about me, wondering which of us will reach out
first. I can’t believe how slowly the days go without you.
3.
When I last saw you, it was early winter, sky blanched with snow. We talked about travel,
philosophies about gifts. I’d been to the craft store to buy spools of wire and yarn, beads the
color of your eyes. We planned to get together. The year turned; my neighbor died. Every day
his widow walks their dog around the block. They’d been together since high school. When the
trash goes out each week, there is the detritus of a full life, old lawn chairs, pet carriers, their
broken front door. It’s spring now, the first snow drops and forsythia blooms on campus. This is
what I want to tell you when I next see you:. I want to walk with you, to look together at the
crocuses burst through the ground. You are alive. I am alive. Please, take my hand.
