that morning

that morning
the air humid
with tears
from somewhere else

my skin sticky
muscles tired
and mind uneasy

the polish on my toenails peeling
from the angst rushing through my body
the sun lay on my foolish cheek
overtop my teacher’s last kiss
I sat perched there feeling all wrong
all alone
on the verge of worrying my soul
into a peanut shell

suddenly
we sat together
as I would later do again
with so many
many
many
loved ones
not knowing this one
until
that morning

my mom said
I wore blue eyeliner
from the 80’s,
in my lap, awkwardly sat my lunch
and he, comfy in his striped shirt
and aged black
leather jacket

he was lovely

the two of us
on cold hard plastic
sharing
recycled ideas
and we both
knew it.

he on paper
me in light banter

us; you and me.
the
both
of
us.
old and young,
knowing and abstract,
sitting together
looking over a piece
of lovely paper.
children,
mothers,
pasts,
presents,
the scent of women,
and the hopes of fulfillment
these; our discussions

I didn’t want
to share
but when I stood
it was all
I tangibly had to give.
he taught me different, with his smile