It was late October. The sun
bent low over the street as the cabs
hurried away from us. I liked the way
she was funny, the cadence of it,
every third sentence oozing into a laugh.
October. A good time to fall in love.
My hands shook from cold and a little fear.
Some of it real, more of it imagined.
I didn't like the dark and also worried
I thought of love the wrong way and then
worried about something stupid I was
about to do, but then she'd laugh and
slip a hand down to my hip and
push me away a little before coming close.
It unraveled my attention to stupid things.
Calamities I always wandered toward,
townships obliterated by errant tornadoes,
guns and the terrible things teenagers did
with them. She kept close until
my hands stopped shaking.
They shook for the last time
three years later. I'd forgotten about her
and fell in love in another city.
The sun dropped the same
but I'd gotten over all that and how
her huge blue eyes funneled in on words that I
had lost my gift for using. They're still there
the way she's still there, like October is there
when it's spring and everything's better.