Where Ever You Are

red hooded cape

Yesterday I looked up from the stained sidewalk
to see your reflection in Macy’s downtown window,
your red hooded wool
cape tightly closed at the neck,
your long
brown hair peeking out. I spun around,
hoping to catch you, hoping you’d catch me.

I guess I didn’t turn quickly enough.
You were gone, replaced by a group of tourists
gawking and mumbling about
transient matters,
not noticing the
bewildered man in their midst.

Crossing the Third Avenue bridge, I saw you
in a cab by yourself. You looked
into my eyes
as you passed, then turned
away without a smile.
Was that really you?
Tell me that wasn’t you
turning away.

In the park I saw you helping a little girl fly her kite
higher and higher. I rushed
to say I was sorry;
I touched a shoulder that
wasn’t yours. “I’m so sorry,
I thought you
were someone else,”
I effused as I backpedaled
with my head down.

Last night without thinking I cooked grilled cheese
just the way you liked,
chopping fresh basil into a pool
of olive oil,
pressing it into the tomato slices before
rolling it in grated cheese. You would mash it all up
on the plate, and eat it with a fork
and hug yourself
between each bite.

The leaves turned yellow and crimson on the Jersey Shore
last weekend. I went
down to spend a couple of days with
Audrey. Remember how she used to flirt with me when the
three of us were together?
You’d feign jealousy, knowing all
the while
I never noticed anyone but you. She flirted with me
again. I quickly looked for you to
admonish me, but you
weren’t there. Maybe
I flirted back.

The snow will fall soon. Audrey has already asked me to go
with her to Stowe.
We used to go there, you and I,
for long
weekends. Sometimes we never made it to the slopes
to ski. In front of the fireplace,
you’d play your guitar, singing
silly love
songs while I kissed your neck and rubbed your shoulders.

I lie awake at night remembering how we’d fall asleep entangled
in each other, our
legs twisting, arms roaming, fingers exploring
for the best place to rest. Our
breath and hearts synchronizing,
tongues
darting in and out, licking the other’s face. Always we tried
to climb inside the other to
be safe, to be held, to be loved.

Some days go by and I have moments when I don’t think about you,
but they are so
very few. Where ever you are, I send my love.

1 Comment

  1. Where Ever You Are | Flash Fiction & other ... on September 6, 2015 at 11:40 am

    […] Yesterday I looked up from the stained sidewalk to see your reflection in Macy’s downtown window, your red hooded wool cape tightly closed at the neck, your long brown hair peeking out. I spun around, hoping to catch you, hoping you’d catch me. I guess I didn’t turn quickly enough. You were gone, replaced by …  […]

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