Nostalgic Posts · Poetry

Seventeen, Twenty-Six, and Thirty-Two

I came to life at seventeen

With my suntan and purple shorts.

You were too cool, too witty for me,

But somehow you wanted me too-

A big smile and brown curls who woke up for you.

I wore a blue dress to the movies

And stole my sister’s shoes that she never let me borrow –

Head on your shoulder –

Arm in arm out the door to the car.

Ice cream kiss

Like kerosene poured on a slow burn.

I loved you before I even knew it

And realized it sometime walking in the rain,

Then woke up thinking it was all a dream.

A bus ride apart, an ocean apart.

No one understood us but us.

Love letters to Spain,

Love letters to Baltimore.

I keep them in a box to remember that you.

At twenty-six I wore a white dress –

The prettiest I’ll ever wear,

A veil, pearls, and pink shoes.

I walked a long way down to you,

Daisies, tears, and a smile on my dad’s arm.

We danced to our song

And the band erred on the words,

But the bar was open

And the room was full of love.

You twirled me when I asked you to

And I realized what it is to feel

You are exactly what you’re meant to be at a moment in time.

And I realized I was meant to be that white dress and those pearls,

That veil and those pink shoes

Being twirled around by you.

At thirty-two, I am yours still

And feel lucky you choose me too

Even though your brain can walk in a straight line

While mine thinks in roller coaster loops,

But I’m brave enough to ride them with you.

You suffer coffee kisses and New Jersey

And come home to me each night,

To water views and too many cozy lamps,

To sitting on the blue couch

Beside seventeen, twenty-six, and thirty-two.

Poetry

A Riddle

What’s sometimes parted, amidst meeting,

Twice – a customary greeting,

Apart, directed through the air,

In tales, can rescue princess, fair?

Some are stolen in dim corners,

Exchanged address between adorers,

A remedy for children’s aches,

Post-vow prelude to cutting cake,

Often follows bedtime stories,

Seals amends when saying sorry.

Some spread death

While some breathe life.

Some paint their faces black and white.

They share the mark of buried treasure,

Foiled morsels, small in measure.

Sometimes – directive of a dare,

Pined for by lovers undeclared.

Some are nuzzled nose to nose,

One, painted in Klimt’s renowned pose.

Some freeze time

And some impress.

On one you love,

Bestow your guess!