Pine Needles

It’s something about the smell of pine-needles and the taste of shopping. And this is about likes and mistakes and, in general, that thing called ‘l o v e’, and you may shake your head, you may be jaded, or you may Remember too. 1

I opened a gift once. Maybe too soon. 2

I had hope in the softness of this face. Nothing ever happened but hope- hope found and then lost, and- 3

But we don’t go past that, not for this bundle, Memory’s gift. Memory still lends me the same butterflies I felt in my stomach those days, when he made me smile. 4

Surrounded by Christmas books at Borders, and leaving the store and it was dark- a deep intake of breath, looking at the lights around me, the world is at my feet and oh. 5

The nicest oh ever. I thought there was meaning in it, in his face as I gradually registered it in front of me, crossing my path- 6

it must be-7

it has to- 8

hi and flickering like water, a laugh once he’d passed- 9

oh my, I went home and it was all Thankgiving-turned-Christmas and I wrote poems, built myself pine needles to never ever grow brittle and crack.