We were young and had such brave new constructs
of beliefs and insistent yearnings for our lives to mean something and revel in
honesty.
He and she and I would meet in the cold wet
forest, unwrapping saved snacks and bits and pieces salvaged from meals ,
tromping around branches and brambles as we talked and debated and discussed
and laughed and yelled and swore and sang and did anything we wanted at a time
when no adult would believe us or respect what we knew to be respectful , or
share our wonder of what we knew to be wondrous .
Later we would meet at the French teacher's
home, where she and I would stand arm in arm, perusing, suddenly shy. , and
then gravitate over to where he'd be caressing the piano keys, eyes closed,
seeping away; so we 'd close our eyes too , and off we would go , nowhere and
somewhere, the great expanse of what was to come pulling us as we slept .
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