After Todd Dillard
Constellations wink in a raven black sky.
Your car, lights off, waits as we gaze from atop a hill.
Do you remember the first time we danced?
In middle school, remember? A square dance.
We whirled away on the lodge’s wooden floor
As the trees watched through the windows.
Trees, drenched in shadow, rest at the hill’s end.
New York glimmers beyond, a concrete wonder.
Do you remember our first date?
At the bowling alley, remember? You won.
We talked and laughed, drinking tart lemonade
While a deer wandered through the parking lot.
A doe, soft and strong, looks on as our hands meet.
The metal of your watch is cool on my wrist.
Do you remember our first kiss?
In my car, remember? I drove you home.
You asked first, then leaned over the console.
It was like winter turning to spring, sweet as honey.
A bee bumbles languidly around our entwined hands.
We walk to the car, lights on, and you take me home
The long way round.
