Graduation, 1995
I was told to follow the
invitation to
your
party. I did not want this
back, but I drove the thirty miles, nervous
and shaking -- took half a pack of
Camels
to get there, stereo blasting violence in the
back seat. Lost in
Lansing, a
maze of orange and
red signs,
potholes; then a familiar street.
Stepping into your back yard, overcome with
ghosts, half-forgotten pasts, my
haunted eyes
seemed strange to your friends, with their
hockey shirts, with their
cheerful smiles
I tried to see your ghosts, your pasts,
dead father,
dead mother, hovering behind
your shoulder. Your
dead boyfriend, standing
next to an
engineering student. Peculiar
engineer, with
FUN carved in his short, tight hair,
sniffing
habitually, perhaps from the trees. My ghosts
crowded them back, and nothing felt
real. You told your friends, card playing,
that we were old
Euchre partners --
And I remember that night in the modern
church --
we first played Euchre, you lying on the floor,
wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants. I stare at the
polyester carpet, and only
glance at you, trying
hard not to look at your
neck.
and I can still see your
elfin smile
It was time for you to
hostess mingle,
so I played this silly game with your friends,
the engineer still sniffing with every misplayed card.
They were people that could have been
my friends. I lost the game and sat in
silence.
You slid behind me and
touched my
shoulder.
And I remember that night in the old church --
laying on
cotton sheets, longing to join the party
downstairs, but needing more the pity of
self enforced
isolation. And
you're there and
it is so important that
you're there and
not downstairs. You stroke my back through
my black t-shirt, it is
perfect and I hope and I
wish it will go on forever. I say
wonderful
insightful things --
Are you all right? I should go back down . . . .
and I can still
smell your apple breath
We talked briefly about my
engagement and
my
hair. You played a game and you won,
the engineer started cooking hot dogs
on a gas
grill. the
flesh smells, and the
spattering sounds drive the
past away for a moment.
And I remember that night outside by the
fire --
we sit on a splintering bench, and
I am crying baby sobs for the end of everything.
You
hug me tight and say
you love me.
Because I can't say it, I
thank you.
and I can still hear your
smoky voice
softly
singing.