Friendship

“I love you,” says he.
“I like you,” says she,
“But this just isn’t meant to be.”

Another says, “I’m falling,
Falling in love with you.”
She laughs and says,
“That can’t be true.
I don’t see why you’d say
Such a silly thing to me.”

Yet another passes by
She watches him with eager eye
And holds an adoring sigh
They spend their time
They talk and play
On this and that random day
Her heart leaps and joys abound
Until his voice makes this sound,
“You’re such a pal, a true friend,
I’m glad we had this day to spend
As friends. You’re a nice gal.”
She smiles, feigning happiness
But knowing she’s denied full bliss.
“I love having friends,” she tell him,
Laughs. Never hinting that she wishes,
Wishes vainly they were more,
Just a little more…than pals.
I won’t like him she resolves
But something in her still falls
For his crinkled eyes and ready grin,
But this is one heart too great to win.
After passing time with he,
Their jolly, merry company
Must end that day and so they part
And she leaves with him her breaking heart.

Then again she spies the first
And pity within her burst,
His sorrowing eyes plead to her gentle heart
“Please love me, do not part.”
She answers no his silent cry,
Knowing both their hearts hold high
A love that Beloved cannot requite
And so they speak of other things,
The hopes and pangs that Life brings.
She sorrow now she understands
But cannot give what love demands
And so they part with heavy beats
She wishes joy to his lengthen face
Then the second beau she meets.

He, more demanding than the first,
In many questions her submersed.
“Why aren’t we friends,
I thought we be,
Do you not enjoy my company?”
She squirms her foot and turns her lip,
And can’t quite meet his gaze.
Should I tell a lie
To spare him pain
What would it gain
To say that I
Despise his company?
“I’m busy now,
I don’t have time,
Life is crazy,
Much too quick,
I just don’t have time for friendship.”
She bites her lip; it bleeds at the half lie.
Chaotic life truly was,
But for friends she had some time
He just was one she’d spend it with,
The thought made her sick,
But her felling pricked
And made her say,
“Maybe, someday.
Sorry,” she sighed.
She hated that she lied.

Then man number three
Reentered upon the scene.
She watches him with a jealous eye
Stiffens her heart, refuses to cry.
I won’t like him she resolves
But with every smile
More she falls
And whisper grow within her heart
But never from her lips they’ll part
Because he said and always will
The words that sunk her hopeful thrill,
“You’re a great friend, truly a pal.”
Those words were to her dreams fatale
And so she hid her little heart
And watched him smile on all,
Wishing a dream that he would fall
And in his gentlest voice would call
Her more than friend
But she could not pretend
In more than dreams
But even then it seems
An impossibility that he should say
“Don’t go away,
But with me stay
Always, my love,
My forever friend.”

Soul and Sea

Sands slip into the torrent sea
Washed, claimed by crashing wave
That beat the shore, itself to save
Rushing fire swells, salt curled
‘Round my soul, tangled on the shore
Mingling with shattered rocks and scattered hearts
Turning melody into broken parts
To all this splendor there is more—
Moon high hung in deepest sky
Diamonds clinging to the black turn by
With great mystery the world
Burns of twilight, moonlight, starlight
Holding nothing to the light
Of sight, majesty, and my
Consuming, waking passion felt
By the sudden seconds nature dealt
To the broad universe and lonely me.

The Girl in Sunday School

Stacy kept looking at me,
When our eyes caught
She swept her glance away
But blue windows stray
And though they ought not
Sought my face—what did she see?

The lesson droned on
The moments quickly gone
Returned many times again
What could it have been
That captured her eye
And her smiles so sly?

Twenty to and then ten
The lesson would not end
My puzzling only grew
How I wished I knew
What thoughts claimed her mind
And what treasures I might find.

With amen’s dismissed, I stood
As I knew that she would
She again caught my eye
And with a slight sigh,
Glanced at her ring
That a wedding should bring.

She half smiled at him
Then glanced back at me
A longing good-bye
With a look in her eye
Only I could see
My chances are better than slim…

Maggie

The man turned his head and died. It was to be expected, the doctors had given up on him weeks ago—they were surprised he lived that long. It wasn’t his first time in the hospital, a year ago he’d had the same problem; the family had gathered then and begun their mourning. But even before his first visit, his case was doomed—it was her fault really, she’d given up on him long before the doctors did. And when she gave up, he gave up.

Two years before, days before Christmas and he sat stunned, refusing to join in any festivities because of what she’d said. “I got the job in New York, Robbie,” she told him. “That’s great, Maggie! I’ll find a job out there too, when are we moving?” “You don’t understand. I’m going…alone.”

He stared at her. Her cool brown eyes were serene and certain. Their eyes locked and she turned, her long brown hair swept around her shoulder. “Why, Maggie?” he choked the question out. “I’m leaving tonight,” she said, smoothly, sweetly, and firmly. It was final and she was gone.

They’d met ten years before. It was late summer, nearly fall. The sun was burning leaves red and the breeze cooled the shade. A small pond was shimmering yellow and white ducks swam gently as the sun flittered through tree tips. She was sitting on a wooden bench tossing stale pieces of bread in the pond. He had a golden retriever, Jami. Her name was Maggie Lane; his was Robert Blight. She was thirty; he was twenty-six. Her divorce had been final for two weeks; he had a girlfriend, Hillary.

It was half past seven; the time Robert usually walked Jami. He knew every person in the park except Maggie. “Hello, stranger,” he called cheerily. Her eyes locked his and dropped down again, her fingers crumbling bread and feeling her empty left ring finger, the weight of invisible gold still pressing heavily upon it. “Mind if I sit here?” “Yes.” “Oh, I’ll be going then.” He walked away. Maggie smiled.

The next day at half past seven she was there again. “Can I sit here?” “No—yes, I mean—you really should ask better questions. Maggie laughed…nervously. They chatted as the buttercup sun shimmered lower, kissing tree tops and then horizon until it finally vanished, leaving only misty blue scattered with early stars. Midnight came and reluctantly they parted, exchanging numbers and forming plans to meet again.

Maggie and Robert fought for the first time two days after he broke up with Hillary. They fought about Jami; Maggie won. The next fight was about Robert’s job; Maggie won. It was an intoxicating kind of argument, an addiction that caught them everyday and promptly followed by an intense apology session.

Robert dedicated her life to Maggie. Robert changed his job, his apartment, and his life for her. She didn’t change anything. She enjoyed her time with him. After one year they returned to the park bench and had a picnic dinner at half past seven. “I love you,” he whispered in her left ear. She was silent. “I love you,” he whispered louder. Maggie smiled. He studied her lips. She laughed, kissing him gently.

She never said those three words he longed to hear. His every action begged for her love. His every movement was dedicated to her. “I love you,” he’d say, but Maggie only laughed. When she left, Robert’s only words were, “Maggie, I love you” scrawled on an empty envelope. He failed the first time. The note was the same the second time: “Maggie, I love you.” The third time the note read the same: “Maggie, I love you.” The third time he succeeded. They found him on the cold bathroom floor. Whispering, “Maggie, I love you,” he turned his head and died.

Enticement

There was a couple long boarding on Elaine’s street. She didn’t care, the swoosh of wheels on asphalt captured her attention for only a moment before she returned to blankly staring at her Spanish homework. She had books spread around her on the lawn, and she skimmed a page of one, reading and understanding nothing. This is the last time I cram, she thought.

The girl continued flying up and down the street, curving side to side and weaving around obstacles, but the boy stopped and called, “Hey, do you want to try?” “I’ve gotta study she called back.” It was an excuse, but not the real one, she had no desire to interrupt the couple with her clumsiness, and she hated being the odd one out. “Oh, come on, you can study later.” Elaine looked at him, studying he’s smile which ended in dimples and reflected in his brown eyes. “Oh, ok,” she stood up, leaving her scattered books.

The boy’s name was Henry. “Have you ever done this before?” “No, and I’m really bad at stuff like this, so I’ll probably fall.” “It’s easy, you’ll be fine. Stand like this,” he demonstrated. She tried, but wobbled. He steadied her and she grasped Henry’s arms firmly, fearing the fall that would certainly accompany the loosening of her fingers. Eventually she did let go, and though failing perfection, managed to roll down the street.

The girl glided by and watched them, but Elaine could not read her face. She came nearer and Henry said, “Elaine, this is my sister, Mary.” Both girls smiled, but Elaine’s was the broadest—it wasn’t a couple after all.

Gum (8.8)

I have a photo of a man whose name I don’t know. Half of the blood that runs through my veins is his, this nameless man’s. It’s not a proper photo; it’s a strip of $3 photo booth pictures taken on one of my mom’s few dates with this man.

Sometimes I think I have his eyes, but it’s hard to tell. They’re kinda blurry. Maybe his lips? I might have his laugh, ‘cause I don’t have Mom’s. Hers is bubbly and bright; mine crinkles deep and high.

I imagine the date, and their laughs mingling in the cramped, sweaty booth. There was likely dirt and gum stuck on the floor. Maybe she even dropped a piece and there it rests, stale and hard, the only remainder of that date—aside from the pictures and me.

Turn Left (Cat's Exercise)

Turning left, blinker set, steady stream of rain and cars, Amelia craned her neck, stretching her vision and striking the gray-brown car mat with her left foot rapidly. Her mother’s words echoed, “He’s not well, Amelia…hurray, please.” Amelia clutched the old beige phone, “What did the doctors say?” “Just hurray,” her slow, worried words increased the receiver’s weight.

Amelia turned to her younger brother, sitting in the passenger seat, “Dad’ll be fine.” Brent drew his lips tight; eyes burning with water and trained straight ahead, staring at nothing. “He’s strong Brent.” “Amelia…he’s…last time was too close.” “But he pulled through, he can do it again.” Brent leaned forward, flipping through radio static. An old song came on—Amelia knew every syllable, but she didn’t sing, instead she drifted to the kitchen of the house they’d lived in when she was five. She was dancing with Dad on the yellow linoleum floor, her feet on his. Mom hummed gently as she finished dinner and Brent knocked toys together in his play pen. It had been a nightly occurrence.

Tears fell from Amelia, matching the clouds drop for drop.