She was cleaning
her dining room table
of the miscellaneous piles
of accumulated stuff she had been
too distracted to care about—
papers, letters, coupons, bills, tax forms,
and unopened mail.
She inserted stuff into file folders
or threw things into the trash bag,
already half full.
We sipped wine unhurried,
tossing each other bits of conversation
and notations on the miscellany of life.
There was an occasional trip down a rabbit hole;
the music continued while brats simmered in beer.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.
She was such a beautiful woman
and knew I was attracted to her.
I wondered if she saw me squirm just a little.
She told me I couldn’t
fall in love with her,
suggesting only friendship.
Wanting more, I was either too hopeful
or too foolish to understand why I couldn’t love her.
Yet I did, and painfully so,
eventually surviving the rigors of rejection.
From: In Transition
Unpub. MS p. 25
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