Three

1. 1991

He mailed me the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying

From San Francisco and I knew he was never

Coming back.

I practised sun salutations for him

In the space between my bed and dresser

Anyways. Turning our promise ring round and round

On my finger.

The first time I saw him, of course, was outside the drama room.

In the white tank top and cargo pants and

Strawberry blond hair, long on top and in his eyes.

He asks me about the audition.

2. 1997

Headlights scanned across the sliding glass door

as he paused outside. The steam of many bodies made glass opague

A rice paper screen and

his shadow went from small to big to small again

Like a life. I was the only one who saw this godliness.

He arrived,

Gently scuffing his wet sneakers on the carpet like a cat.

I was coming down the stairs and stood a head above so

I saw everything. He looked like he felt my gaze

Like a touch.

I bring my hands to heart’s centre but

There are gaps between my fingers.

He is already talking about my aura

Absent to my faults.

3. 2007

You stood in the doorway, pressed between bodies passing

Wearing dark and denim like all of us

but also something else.

I stole a sideways glance.

You gave me your number and I called it

Staring into your eyes as it rang.

I dig into your pocket to answer your phone

And feel your warmth thigh through thin cotton.

I would have kissed you under the twinkle lights but

You said no.

That Sunday I cook you a chicken and you bring roses.

Your lips freeze time. We forget about

Our plans that night, the bird in the oven.

Light fades to dark and then light again.

Sun rises regardless.