Sky Blue Irises
by Christopher J. Bradley
12/3/00 10:51:58 PM
It was Thanksgiving time again
And I waited around the house for most of the evening
For my car to arrive
So that I could go to meet you.
You were sitting in the bar when I arrived
A Lewiston Brew House
And talking with your sister.
It had been 7 years since we'd spoken.
Chinese was still new to me on our last dining experience
I had Chicken and Mushrooms at Emperor of China
The small restaurant on Main Street served tea with the meal.
And I thought I could talk to you forever.
You wore a long flowing gown made of thin flowered tissue cloth
And smoked clove cigarettes across the table at me
You called yourself a granola
Whatever that was it sounded appealing to me.
We were both college students
And you were not single.
You suggested that we go for a walk along the gorge
And being in nature with you seemed like a nice idea.
We stopped somewhere in the middle and sat on a rock
And talked and shared silence
While the sun glinted from the ripples of the water below.
It was a warm summer day and one not easy to forget.
That day traced back to afternoons marching through the sticks of the wild grass
Behind your house where we chased a frog
In seventh grade
And the time we went horseback riding
After the Haloween that I dressed as Indiana Jones for.
I remember that a year earlier
You lent me a casette tape of The Cars
And I copied it so that I could hear "Magic" and "Hello Again" over and over
And we had Spelling Bees and Studied Biology at school.
At our most recent meeting
When I was staring out into space
I was thinking about whether or not I would have the courage
To strike out on my own and somehow make myself worth your attention again.
Maybe try to get a higher paying job somewhere far away from here
Or live differently
For a chance to touch your short dark hair
Or return your silent postured gaze again
Like the one I held with you for only a moment
In the first November of the Millenium
In the glaze of a chill winter evening
On Center street.