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[FairEllen]

Then there were those days on campus,
making just enough money for the
Friday two-for-ones at the Jasmine
on North Monroe.

At the end of the day, I would
retreat to the shower and
listen to tearful renditions of
Pavarotti on an early version
of a walkman, attempting at
intervals to make it a duet.
Later, I would have a glass of
Italian wine, pin a red
flower in my hair, and order pizza.

In the middle of each day,
about noon, I watched people
disappear in couples.
My love and I had chosen two
different avenues, well-thought.
I always feared he would close
his eyes and forget me, and
the greyhounds of loneliness
would consume me.

It was as though our relationship
was spinning like a corkscrew
into the soft black dirt of the
Old St. Augustine Road where we
walked so many times.
But freedom is what love
is all about. We endured.

I look through old postcards
and phone bills, and
wonder how we made it.
And I rock those days
in the cradle of my heart,
for those were the days
that showed us how very
much our love was worth.

He is gone now, and if
only I could beckon him back
for one day, I would relive
with him those beautiful days
that we called our Browning days,
the days that taught us love.

[Nancy]

I love these lines for the truths they evoke:

[KevinAR]

FairEllen:

I'd like to apologize for being gone so long. I miss interacting with my friends here and sharing my work. Your poem is very intimate and expresses a longing for days gone by. I often sit on my back porch with a cold drink and think about the past...and of lost love...and of how happy those days were. Thanks for sharing this. It strikes home more than you can know.