February 26th

I am kissed

A burst of yellow flowers on Easter

On a quiet street at night

In my memory cool and grey

I’m going to be sorry if I don’t do this

So afraid you will lose the slip

Of paper with my phone number

Torn jeans and a ratty green sweater

This is not the wardrobe of attraction

A young dog looks out at me from your truck

This winter dead of old age

We plan our trip north

To graveyard beach

Where canine ashes go

Even as winged men leap into the wind

From dunes so we can remember

Younger days of frolicking

Like that time I collected sand dollars

That is my peninsula

I claimed it the first day I discovered it

Driving the 68 past the exotic cars

My pier where I found a newspaper

Streets where I hunted for a new home

Only five months later in that bookstore

A paperback copy of Cannery Row

I would look at your hands

You would say something nothing talk

And Kalisa would not let us dine with her

Photographs before tourists replaced fishermen

When this town belonged to your childhood

I’m going to be sorry if I don’t do this

That day one year later on the pier you shoved my hand

Proudly in front of the man selling shrimp

Cocktails and the rain was joy

And we claimed it for ourselves

Remember the Chinaman from the story?

I remember lobster bisque and O’Kanes

My mind is filled up with memories

Of those brief months before like a bud

waiting for what it doesn’t understand

You did, on that night, you did

And neither of us has ever been sorry.