LATE BIRTH
What means it when a love is turned,
the friend whose liking you declare
as proof you are one of the good
When she grows vivid under your gaze
and you begin to count her calls
You work to make her laugh, you
tell raw secrets, rein your gush
because you do not want to be
the one who needs the most. She seems
to welcome each new confidence
but you obscure, to her or self,
where this is going. This is what
they tell you is a bad idea.
Friendship is the golden hoard
and wanting more is beflowered lies.
Keep cashing out, don't let it ride.
But still you look for secret signs.
And then one too-hot April day
you find the words, and glory glory
she says "Yes, me too", and then
in middle age, with no games left
you let her matter more than you
have ever dared. You strip in daylight
No shower first, no song and dance
You look into her greenwood eyes
and fall.
Copyright Maggie Jochild, written 9 August 2011, 12:06 p.m.
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