Thirteen, free, fierce, naïve, invincible, untouchable young sexy thing.
Eighteen, swollen eyes from first-love crying, break into a run in the park stiff leather boots, shin splints, making love to books for three years before busting out again.
Eight, chocolate ice-cream sticky chin at the zoo in the park, mother’s lap, rainbow room, calling to be tucked in.
Twenty-three, chain-smoking bronze skin hill-walking Spanish-speaking waif poet. I want to be the poem you recite in your sleep.
Twenty-eight, first-time pregnant, gorgeous round insane libido wholeness dreaming in names.
Forty, fifty, sixty, over it, under it, through it, above it all, inside of the circle the centrifugal force that no longer spins me out but holds me in. Soon come.
To be here, now, have it satisfy the vague distress of missing something, this ordinary me thirty-five, free internet access at the library, sirens turning corners reminding me of other places, other cities, other moments that exist nowhere but in the mind.
I miss your smile, your cheek, your eyes 80% dark chocolate, your skin the smoothest café cream, your hands, soft so loving and unafraid.
Lover I never had, the specter one I imagine, recognize the woman in a photograph a near-miss stranger, touched me once, fully clothed, channeling light.
Man I wrapped my arms around speeding winding back-country summer roads romance. You fucker never said I love you, can you believe I still think about these things?
Man I chose fought surrendered dissolved resisted and returned home to, you hide in corners can’t evade me oh how you try, you try valiantly, avoid me run and I call you out, call you, refuse to play, until you respond, let me love you.
Oh girl-child-woman-mother-street-walking-blast-the-music-pound-the-pavement you. You are right here, you are here, you have been here all along. You have never left me. Come take hands, put down your bags. Walk with me. I miss you.