First

I devise a mental cheesecloth to strain
Molly's memory, to lose the bitter,
Keep the sweet. A few months fifty
Years ago return to me, I can't say
Why, as I sit outside in the sun.
I recollect the way my love, not hers,
Hit like a tidal wave. She was my first.
She made me shiver. Bony little thing
With glasses, half a decade older,
Who had stood before me in her
Classroom for at least a half a year
Without meaning too much to me,
She rose up and I was submerged.
I saw that life would pale, would end,
If I could not draw her to me. That was
The sweet, that helpless feeling. We once
Walked along a beach together (not alone,
Of course), that tidal wave, poor battered
Me, and I was never happier. I savor that.
I'll strain the bitter. My best friend and I
Would go to visit her, and, when we did,
It wasn't hard to see that she thought more
Of him than me, and she was married, anyway.
I left for school. My love went dry,
And other, better, loves arrived. I'm not
Sure why I've thought of her. It may be
Fair to say I haven't. What's returned
Has been the memory of being tossed
And tumbled for the first time
By a love.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 44 times
Written on 2020-03-31 at 18:51

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