San Andres

Her hair had gotten longer,

it always did,

those sudden auburn inches

a reminder she was no longer

a part of my everyday life-

its new length always a shock.

Her raincoat matched the pastel

blue of her car, I’m reminded of

when we sang The Decemberist

in our kitchen, that rainy day

so long ago. She was so calm,

fingers danced across the stereo

to find a suitable station.

She asks about my day,

as if she’s just seen me yesterday,

as if we don’t live two worlds apart.

I can only stammer.

She drove us into town,

the new grass just green fuzz in the dirt.

Her legs weren’t stockinged under

a dress, a surer sign of spring.

Hands migrate to my knee, greedily

I grab it, too fast. I should not have been

so eager. Slight smile passed her face

like a wave, I’m taken by the undertow

of our memories.

I forgot our destination, our divide,

let myself get lost in the softness

of fingertips, the cadence of words.

“Boyfriend” rang through her mindless speech,

I looked at her again, the fault

between us reappeared.

I reminded myself,

her hair had gotten longer.


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