Tuesday, March 4, 2014

The Best Date with Kate on Dane Beach

You didn't know, when we prayed in the car in the driveway,
that your name was written on my left hand, held in yours.
Not because I would ever forget you, but I'm forgetting everything
these days. Muttering, "You goose," with a grin to the passing mirror.
You lost your keys. And we got lost on the way to Dane Beach five minutes
away. Finally there I tried to reassure you. You were hot and knotted and I was
already shaking in the cold. Over the packed sand and snow like lumps of hard
brown sugar, we walked arm in arm. It might have been a gorgeous night.
We weren't paying attention to the brittle lights over the Atlantic Ocean.
Stars didn't matter. Only clean cold oxygen and our elbows pressed
close and the earnest rap of our voices.

I stepped on a sheet of ice, and you broke into a puddle. We swung
on the drooping swings and said we were stretched (in fourteen directions).
How do we link to the Vine, if we are "branches"? A man in a passing car yelled
"Bitch! Get a real date!"
and we yelled back to the taillights, "And bless you! And may you learn love and
true friendship!" And laughed aloud. That kind of barb was so absurd it bounced.
"This would be great date." But what a life we're saved from. The only hope
we've ever known is, "Here's my Everything: Have me." We spread our
gloved hands wide. Back in the warm Starbucks you put your tea
down and your face was so beautiful. I couldn't tell you again.
It is something like food to me, sister, to so see your love
blooming up. To have your name on my hand.

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