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her
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Poems 2009 I met her in early September
as the leaves turned over
and blazed across postcards.
“Tell them we died in late
evening while the band still
lingered over their cocktails
and rhythms slid like molasses
over copper shoulders and under stilettos”
Lilacs wafted from her hair as she tapped a heel.
I imagined what my mother would say
and I suppose we gathered glances
like some do sea shells
and held them just as tightly.
Evening fell and so did I,
past cheap motels and road signed 20 miles under me
until the sun spilled across my fingers
but there was nothing there to grasp.
I need another drink.
