Simple (Gracia, 1983)

1983 was

a simpler time,

and our love

was simple.

There were

no needless

complications.

No sex

(we were both

too scared),

we knew

we couldn’t

handle that.

Sitting with her

in the shade

at Hillcrest Park

on that May afternoon

was enough,

leaning on each other,

gazing at

an ever-receding

horizon.

Her laughter,

her chestnut brown hair

in the breeze,

her full, deep gaze

were all I needed.

It went by

so quickly.

Just as leaves

don’t fight

to stay

on their branches,

we didn’t fight

our inevitable

parting.

I think about her

every Spring,

thankful

that even our goodbye

was simple.

I’m sure

she wouldn’t

recognize me

today.

She knew me

before all the drama,

all the unnecessary

damage,

before all the

complications.

She loved me

when my heart was

simple.

Gracia (Prompt: love)

Her family moved in
across the street
from mine,
and my 19 year old
head was turned.
I was curious.

I moved slowly,
the only speed
my timid, virgin
heart knew.

She was dark haired,
dark-eyed,
peach-cheeked,
with a wide,
friendly smile.

Fittingly,
her name was Gracia.

Where I was a nervous
dervish of insecurity,
she was calm,
comforting
and laughed when needed,
and took me seriously
when needed.

She was beautiful
and she was my friend
and I loved her.

Moments together
were warm and they glowed.
We were chaste,
perhaps even naive,
and we both happily explored
the previously uncharted regions
of each others' heart.

We taught each other
how to kiss,
and nothing more.

There was no need for more:
it was an exquisite time,
and that was enough.

But, like a haunting melody
on a worn-out 45,
somewhere deep down
we both knew
our summer of 1983
would come to an end.

The next year
she started dating
Alex,
and I tried not to watch
from my bedroom window
as he gently guided her
into his car,
in a most gentlemanly
and enviable fashion.

He was older (which I wasn’t),
he was Christian (which I wasn’t),
he had a plan for his life
(which I didn’t).

Within two years
she married Alex,
and I attended their wedding,
which her family
inexplicably and regrettably
decided to boycott.

I used to wonder
about my place
in her memories,
until I found out
years later
that her
first son’s name
is
the same as mine.

(Posted for #OpenLinkNight at dversepoets.com, the best poetry website on the whole damned Internet.)