The October wind rewinds
To when we sat divided by a wicker basket
Both of us catching the drift of the grasslands—
Your legs wavering, mine rooted in anticipation
A loose strand stuck to the corner of my lip
I would imagine it looked poetic, foolishly enough
For your mother called the scene careless
And you couldn’t agree more, letting us fray
I thought we could watch the clouds
Call one a clover, another a doodle by a lover
With tricks up your sleeve, devotion trailing my hem
I remained struck till one rained on me
The skin beneath the slit in my skirt
Was once thrilled by your ice cold touch
Oddly, that day, I squeezed my thighs shut—
They chafed on the way home
All I wanted was your fingers to dance
Along the folds of my accordion pleats
But only a pool of tears whirled in my lap
And when I finally rose, my skirt billowed free
~Poem 36
