Do you remember
Grant Park in the Spring?
Me smoking cigarettes,
you taking pictures in between my legs.
I’d run around town
in my polka dot dress,
looking like a pseudo beatnik,
trying to catch your eyes.
We’d sit and laugh
at everyone else,
understanding each other’s humor
and discovering our own capacities.
I’d steal daffodils
from all the sidewalks,
bringing them to you and beaming
with affection and disaster.
You’d encourage my words,
bringing me to tears and
then lifting me up with
sardonic, pure, frenetic love.
We never made plans,
easing in and out of our friendship
with patience, suspense, and calm.
We knew then what we still know now.
That Spring was warmer than this one.
The days are no longer filled
with park photo-shoots
or long-winded cigarette-fueled love letters.
Still, the calmness sets in
at least once a day,
Our present tense mixes with nostalgia,
and the smell of daffodils still make us smile.