Things That May Have Been
Our legs tangled in the midnight waters of a suburban pool,
cheap beer and underaged drinking our ballast;
Basil-breathed vodka stories greet the rooftop dawn,
stone roses, garden hoses, a record on the player;
A lace dress, a gimlet kiss, a stairwell to lean
against your chest, maybe on your next trip through;
Always, you and I, crushed, sweaty, against the long hallway
in the club, melding to the beat, and never going home, come dance;
A long walk, and a picnic out by the soccer fields,
grass stains a fading memory, I’ve kept the bottle.
A touch and something more –
ghosts of past futures possible
ripple outward still.
Na/GloPoWriMo Day Nine asks us to write a Sei Shonagon-style list of “things.”
dVerse’s Tuesday prompt is water.