|Apr/May 2010 Poetry
Just leaning toward someone is part of the story.
But that's not where it begins.
It begins before the corduroy
jacket on loan. Before tracks
through snow to an unlit house.
The dust of blue chalk and crack
of pool balls. Archie Bell &
the Drells on the radio three a.m.
from your brother's room.
It begins before the scent of Old
Spice through a window of a car
with Kentucky plates. Before a
southerly wind pushing an empty
porch swing. A Hershey bar
broken into thirds. A deck of cards
shuffled and reshuffled August
afternoons. But even before that.
Before a boot comes loose
at the sledding hill. The trade
of buffalo nickels. Crawling
through a field after the other side
wins. That's when it begins. Long
before sprawling on the floor
to watch Hitchcock. Way before
you place your leg gently on mine.