Konar, 1995

Konar, 1995

We sit in an abandoned park
holding hands, and smile

The trees stoop
beside the water channels

& your fingers
big and firm against mine

define the touch
as an assurance of safety

It's March—silent cold
against an electric sun

we do not expose questions
in front of the bushes

but hide them under laughter
like an artist painting a red circle white

I want to tug at your sleeve
& show how happy we are—

that I
am the toddler

in the bright yellow overalls
growing up to write this poem

I want to tell you
my mother's face is not dry today

look, how she curls her arm
round my tiny shoulders

and how you
reclining on the grass

with the river flowing behind
are not forty yet